It's Knelling for Me
by LovEinLimBo
Summary: ON HIATUS "I came here to watch you, alright." Ville loved to make Bam smile like that for him. "You look beautiful in the rain." Slash. Ville Valo/ Bam, Ville/Mige, Ville/OC
1. Chapter 1

**It's Knelling for Me**

**Confessions:** English is not my native language, and I'm nowhere near perfect at it; but I couldn't resist the urge of writing a HIM slash by letting my weakness get in the way. So here I am and here's my little HIM slash; I just hope you can look pass the mistakes I may have made while writing this…till I find someone to beta this for me. Oh, and I'm new to all these HIM fanfictions, and don't know much of Ville Valo much to my shame and frustration. I just know that he is the sexiest man ever walked the planet, and has the deepest, most sensual voice, and makes the best music…and oh, yeah, his picture has been captured while kissing some guys [Hot!] and if that isn't the best motivation for writing a HIM slash, I don't know what is. [winkwink]

**Summery: **life has never been easy on the lead singer of HIM; this is a story of how Ville's life has been put into a test of strength , hope, and faith. Just how much can he handle before surrendering to his miserable fate?

**Warnings: **angst, sexual tension, suicide, rape, character death…and guys, this is slash, which means boy/boy kissing and stuff. (though I'm not sure why this should be considered as a warning!)

**Disclaimer: **not mine; as if I could be that blessed to own someone like Ville! He owns himself…and I'm quite happy just to own some posters of him…and making out with them!

**A/N: **btw, this little poem-thingy is by my humble self. I just wanted to try writing sth similar to HIM lyrics, which is not near as good, but I did my best. I even used some words Ville is more fond of in his lyrics! Yeah, tell me what you think.

**~ It's Knelling for Me ~**

Upon the fine edges of his skin

Breathes a sin so fatal

And with the pulse of his hand

It beats to the rhyme of doom

Beneath the silkiness of his touch

Lies a pain so lethal

And with the hitches in his breaths

It reaches for the mournful gloom

Through the warmness of his veins

Runs a nightmare so wild

And with the tears of his blood

It drips into the nape of solitude

Against the thumping of his heart

Knells an emptiness so wide

And with the dead leaves of shame

It falls from the belfry with gratitude

And destiny blows over the open wounds

All scars interlaced

Of agony a heart engraved

In the dark the paths retraced

**Chapter 1: I'm thousands lies away from me**

The man's hand was shaking slightly as his pale, slender fingers circled around a small, plastic bottle and squeezed it tightly till the knots turned white and the shaking subsided a little. Beads of cold sweat were lined up on his forehead, wetting his hair, making the long, dark, silky strands stick to his clammy skin. His shoulders were tensed and stiff, and his back was starting to hurt due to his posture of sitting hunched over the table, while pressing the bottle so tight his nails were digging into the flesh of his palm, trying both to stop his shaking and hiding what he was holding onto for dear life. Everything around him was just a blurry blender of unfamiliar sounds and shifting shadows that were looming over him, engulfing him so wholly like a man trying to make himself as much a part of his lover as the skins, fleshes and bones would allow. And the young man was now a part of the shadows, so lost and drown into them that he didn't even feel the warmth of a hand upon his cold cheek.

"Ville, you ok, man?"

The muscles in Ville's body twitched as the voice broke through his trance and panic rose into the pit of his stomach as he looked up to see the concerned face of his long-time friend, Mige. He wanted to say no, oh god how badly he wanted to be honest with his best friend and say no, that he was not ok, that he had not been for a long time, that he needed help, cause he certainly couldn't pull it through all on his own…but all he did was to nod slowly, as his fist became tighter around the bottle to hide it from those dark eyes of the bass player. Mige gave his tensed shoulders a warm, kindly squeeze but didn't leave him as he was praying for him to do. He pulled out the chair opposite him and collapsed heavily into it, putting his hand over Ville's left one which was resting on the table. Mige's hand felt so hot on his own cold skin, and a shiver ran down his spine. Mige noticed the slight trembling, as well as the unhealthy coldness of Ville's skin and his frown deepened in concern.

"Ville, what's wrong? Are you…hiding something from me?"

Ville could understand why Mige was so puzzled over the possibility of him trying to hide something from his best friend. He never did; he didn't need to. If there was only one person Ville could confined in without any doubt or regrets afterwards, that was Mige. But there were things Ville could not even admit to himself. How could he tell Mige about things he had yet to come to terms with himself?

"Mige, I'm fine. You're just overreacting…again."

Ville could not bring himself to meet those dark eyes of Mige, probably filled with a hurt, accusing expression at that moment. In his hunched position, head titled down, he felt defeated; defeated in a war against his own self. A lose/lose war.

"Am I?" Mige's voice carried the accusation Ville could not face in his eyes. "I watch you, you know? You have been sitting here, all by yourself for two hours straight now. And you haven't moved even for once. If this is what you call normal, then yeah, you're right. I'm just overreacting."

It was so strange, hearing such dark sarcasm in a voice that always made Ville laugh because of making the funniest jokes in the world. Ville suddenly felt so guilty, on top of every other wretched feeling he had at that moment, for ruining such light, joking voice to sound so dark and grave.

"I'm fine." He repeated, but seeing Mige's hard expression he quickly added, "it's just…I guess it's just a weird case of…homesickness."

Mige just raised one of his brow, obviously not believing him.

"Eh…not exactly homesickness…I just don't feel comfortable around these people; I feel so out of place." Ville lied smoothly, letting his tension and panic make his words stutter, making him sound restless and confused instead of terrified and tensed. This time, Mige seemed to buy his act, since his face softened into a warmer, more understanding expression.

"Oh, Ville, you don't need to extract yourself from them like you don't fit in their lot. This was what we were waiting for, for so long, wasn't it?" Ville could only nod while his eyes were fixed upon the wooden table. "Besides, all these American fans like you to the point of obsession. Just…give them a chance. Give yourself a chance, will you? I hate to see you so depressed and alone, when you should be anything but."

Ville managed a tight smile, but his heart felt like a rock in his chest while doing so. He hated lying to Mige, but he hated it even more when Mige believed him. Right now, he was so lost into self-loathing that he wanted nothing but curl up under his bedcover and shut everyone and everything out; he wished he could just shut himself out as well.

"Eh…yeah, you're right. I hate to be depressed and lonely myself." He chuckled dryly, his breath caught at the end and he coughed to force his lungs into drawing oxygen in. Mige gave him a concerned look.

"You sure you ok?" Ville nodded, cheekbones flushed in guilt. "Why don't you go upstairs and take a nap? We have three hours left to our next gig. I'll wake you up in two hours, what do you say?"

Ville managed to raise his head to lock weary, green eyes with warm, dark brown ones. He loved Mige like a brother, so much that sometimes it amazed him how deep his affection for the strong-built man ran in his heart. He loved him so much that it hurt him lying to him, hiding things from him, avoiding him…leaving him. The sting in his eyes brought him back to the present and he smiled to keep the un-welcomed tears at bay.

"Yeah, I feel kinda tired. I…I just go to our room and eh…take a nap." Ville gave Mige another faked smile and brought his hand up to run it through his hair in a nervous fashion. But as he did so, something slipped from his grasp and rolled onto the floor. Both men's eyes followed the small bottle as it stopped in front of Mige's feet and they both went to grab it at the same time. Mige was quicker and nearer to the bottle and Ville's hand only brushed Mige's warm one. There was a horrified expression on Ville's face and a suspicious one on Mige's. He held the bottle in front of his eyes and started to read the name of the drug on the label. Ville found his voice before Mige could open the bottle.

"It's just Theo-dur1**;** my asthma medications."

Mige's fingers tightened around the bottle and his suspicious expression melted into a soft, caring and concerned one.

"Why are you carrying your medications around? Are you…expecting an attack?"

Now with his hand being free and the bottle in Mige's grasp, Ville ran his fingers though his sweat-drenched locks and let out a heavy sigh. He couldn't look at Mige as he spoke.

"Err…last night I measured my PEFR2, just in case…you know, I didn't want to be unprepared if any attacks came during the festival and ah…my PEFR fell. So basically, it means that my airways are starting to narrow, which can be a warning to an up-coming attack. Yeah, I thought I have some Theo-dur, you know, to relax the muscles around my airways."

By that point, Ville was feeling so wretched and miserable he prayed the earth would split open and swallow him right then and there. Mige nodded in understanding and placed the bottle in Ville's hand. Ville's fingers were too numb to wound round the plastic bottle of his asthma medication. He felt tears welling up in his eyes and bowed his head to conceal them from Mige's searching eyes.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Ville shook his head and tried to look nonchalant. He wasn't sure whether he had managed to pull it off or not.

"No, no, it's ok. I just take some pills and go straight to bed. Come wake me up in two hours, will you?" Ville's voice hitched slightly as he asked Mige to wake him up in two hours; the sound of a chocked sob, which to Mige probably sounded like a catch in breath.

Mige patted Ville on his back and gave him a reassuring, warm smile; it was a kind of smile Mige only reserved for Ville. A sign of affection Mige only had for him.

"Sure man; sweet dreams."

Ville couldn't bring himself to tell Mige it had been forever since he had a sweet dream; and that today was not going to be any different either…maybe the worst of all.

Clutching the bottle in his fist, Ville started climbing up the stairs that led to his and Mige's bedroom, with Mige watching his best friend's retreating back, thinking how much he loved the green-eyed man and how he wished he could take all his pain away.

If only he would just stop shutting him out.

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1 Theo-dur and slo-bid are brand names for Theophylline, an asthma medication.

2 Peak Expository Flow Rate (PEFR), a gauge of how fast a person can exhale air from the lungs. By breathing into a small hand-held device called a flow meter, an asthmatic can learn when their airways are first starting to narrow. When the PEFR falls, asthma medication may be needed to prevent an attack.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: all of this happened, cause I was there and watched it all…oh, right;-)

A/N: my thanks to my dear readers, Soot andRavyn Bloodstone who have put this fic in their favorite. Hope you enjoy.

**It's Knelling for Me**

**Chapter 2: The nightmare of broken promises**

Ville quickly locked the door and leaned against it, with eyes closed and heart beating fast and breathing labored. The hand that was clutching his medication was shaking badly and cold beads of sweat were running down his cheeks, looking for all the world like crystal tears he was too exhausted to shed. He was merely some steps away from his downfall and he knew it. His heart thumped madly against his chest at the thought.

_The young man with the round, handsome face and clear blue eyes was looking at him with something akin to desperation and silent plea. He couldn't return the gaze. He couldn't stand how badly the man he used to love so much wanted him now. He couldn't believe how right everything had turned out at the __**wrong**__ time. He couldn't breathe._

"_Ville, I know you want this. You fucking wanted this for as long as I did. Don't…don't fucking lie to me! Don't deny this passion between us!"_

_Ville could not concentrate hard enough on breathing. He felt the telltale signs of an asthma attack but he couldn't allow it to happen right now; not when he needed to talk…not when he needed to run away…from the trap he had set with his own hands._

"_Bam, please, don't make this harder for me! We can't do this! It's fucking wrong!"_

_Bam's face fell at Ville's outburst. "W-why? Because we're both guys? Don't you dare try pulling this act for me! I've seen you kissing the fucking daylights out of that fucking __Jussi_ _guy_ _in the bar!"_

_Ville urged his reluctant lungs to take into a deep breath; he was suddenly so exhausted he could barely stand on his feet. He leaned heavily against the wall to support his weight._

"_Bam...you're married." His voice was a soft, tired whisper._

_He squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of pain shot through his scalp. Bam gave a dry, unbelievable laugh._

"_God, Ville…that was even lamer than 'I'm-as-staright-as-a-fucking-stick-so-even-the-thought-of-sodomy-makes-me-puke' excuse. Please, give me some credit."_

_Ville could only shake his head furiously. "Damnit, Bam, why are you acting so…so difficult? You're married; you love Missy; hell she loves you like mad…you two have a nice, happy life. Why do you want to ruin it all?"_

_Bam couldn't help but snort bitterly. "A nice, happy life? Are you talking about __**my**__ life? Don't you have any idea how fucking miserable I am without you?! How disgusted I am with myself when I touch Missy instead of you?! How fucking tired I am of every-fucking-thing I can never have?! Don't you even dare say my life is happy!"_

It was raining heavily; from where Ville was leaning against the door, he could see the droplets of rain hitting the closed window with such a rage, as if trying to break the glass into million, tiny pieces and wash away the pathetic, broken, and sinful man inside. He remembered a time he was in love with the rain. He loved to get drenched, the way his clothing stuck to his body like a second skin, the smell of rain on him, the smell of purity and innocence he always longed for as heatedly as he longed for his music…but more than anything he loved the way Bam looked at him while socking wet, as water dripped down his cheeks into his collar and his hair was plastered to his forehead, he would lock eyes with those blue ones of Bam's and relish in the warm affection he never failed to discover in the depths of them.

"_Ville, you n'idiot…came outside to catch your death, did you?" Bam said in a tone that warmed whole Ville's soaked, shivering being._

"_Bam, you prick…came outside to watch me dying, did you?" and he chuckled as freely as a child, for he knew how much Bam loved the way he laughed._

"_I came here to watch you, alright." Ville loved to make Bam smile like that for him. "You look beautiful in the rain."_

He didn't love the rain anymore. He hated the memories the rain poured down on him and soaked him to the bone with them. He hated to be reminded of how delusional he had been, standing in the rain and laughing like a child and just happy to see that warm smile on Bam's lips…that had never meant what he thought it had. He hated to be reminded of what a fool he had been, to believe Bam loved him the way he loved Bam, that his smiles meant something, that him saying he was beautiful meant something, that Bam taking him in his strong, caring arms and planting soft kisses on his cheeks as he lied in bed sick and feverish meant something, that Bam saying he was the only person on earth who could make him this happy meant something…

But then Bam showed him how much of a fool he was by sending that blasted marriage card to him…that had another name written next to Brandon Cole Margera instead of his. He showed him nothing had ever meant 'something'; that he had never been in love with the Finnish singer like the way Ville was in love with him; that he was in love with someone else…a girl who Ville had seen his own downfall into the dreamy brown eyes of hers.

Ville hated to be reminded of what a pathetic loser he was; to be reminded of a battle he gave up without a fight.

"_W-what's this Bam?" Ville knew what it was; God how he knew; but he couldn't believe what he was seeing; was it a sick joke Bam was playing on him? Was it his payback for the other day Ville had made fun of his drunken moments? God how he wished it was._

"_You're acting surprised, Ville, like you weren't expecting this." Bam was smiling, but somehow it didn't felt as warm and reassuring as before. "Last night I did it at last! Ville can you believe this, man! I proposed and she said YES! Aren't you happy for me?"_

_Ville felt so lost and small in Bam's embrace. Bam's arms were wounded around his slender shoulders, his face pressed against his neck, his breath ghosting over his skin…but Ville was too numb to feel a thing. Bam loosened his grasp around his stiff, unresponsive body and brought his head back to look at Ville's dazed face._

"_Aren't you?" _

Somehow Ville forced his unwilling feet to take him to the bed he had only slept in for one night. His eyes scanned the small room wearily; a broken smile touched his lips as his gaze fell on Mige's bed that was so untidy and full of discarded pieces of clothing that you might have thought he had been living in here for at least a week. Then there were his beautiful, loyal guitars at the corner of the room, including his Gibson guitar he had bought in Germany while on a tour and his luggage that had yet to be unpacked was lying on the floor next to Mige's already unpacked one. Ville placed the bottle of Theophylline on the nightstand and reached for a cigarette in his pocket. Absentmindedly, he lit it up with his lighter and took a deep drag. As soon as the smoke filled his mouth and rushed down to his lungs, unshed tears pricked at his eyes and with the second drag, he was crying silently but as furiously as the rain outside.

"I cry like God cries the rain," Ville sobbed to himself softly as he lost himself into the smoke engulfing him, "and I'm just one step away from the end of today."

_Hands were roaming up and down his naked chest, lips sucking hard on the pulse on his neck, teeth grazing his delicate skin and breaking the surface, blood trickling down and a ravenous mouth lapping it up greedily as his leather-clad, noticeable erection was trapped between Bam's thighs, pressing painfully into the other man's hard-on._

"_Bam, Bam…oh, Bam…please…please, stop…we shouldn't…please, don't…"_

_But Ville's pathetic attempts at stopping the lustful, fully aroused man from fucking him right into the wall fell on deaf ears as all Bam did to show he had actually heard Ville's whimpers was to slip his hand into the waistband of his leather pants and grab his throbbing member in a possessive grasp. Ville let out a vibrating moan which made the American skater smirk in the satisfaction of a job well-done._

"_Oh, God, Ville…you have no fucking idea how fucking much I want you right now…inside me…c'mon, baby, I know you want it as much…c'mon, take me…fuck me hard with this beautiful erection of yours." Bam panted into his ears and Ville could no longer bottle up his pent-up sexual frustration for the handsome American he had for so long._

_But he knew, oh God how fucking well he knew, that he would live to regret this moment to the eternity, even as he shoved the shorter man into the awaiting bed and pulled his pants down his legs._

_And even when he brought his mouth to suck the already leaking erection of a man he had been in love with for so long that it hurt and made him bleed inside with need just by looking at him in such position, he knew he was just letting his most horrific nightmare come true._

_The nightmare of breaking his promise to a distraught, miserable woman who had wept her heart out into his arms one Christmas night._

Ville had stopped crying the moment his mind had taken him back to the memories he so badly wanted to forget. Memories he wished he never had, that had never happened the way they did, things that even with regret he could never change. He felt dry and empty, and completely at his pain-stricken memories' mercy. His eyes were fixed on the white, plastic bottle in his numb hand and he knew what he had to do. He was too exhausted to feel anything, not even the slightest shudder, as he uncapped his medication and emptied all its content into a glass of water he had poured for himself. Tiny, white, innocuous-looking pills slowly sunk and melted into the colorless liquid as Ville spooned the water with his long, index finger. The water was cold, but not as cold as he himself was, and he swallowed his lump; but tried as he might one single drop of tear spilled from under his tightly closed eyelid, ran all the way down his cheek, hung from his chin for a second and then dripped into the glass…to join the rest of the suicide-tasting liquid.

Ville's tear-soaked, thick lashes fluttered against his cheekbones and slowly he opened his vibrating green eyes to look down at the glass he was holding numbly in his hand. He chocked his tears back, refused to give in to another round of his pathetic crying, and pressed his dry lips to the cold rim of the glass. All he had to do now was to tip the glass and let the liquid run down into his mouth and wash away all of his sins that his mere existence was the cause for.

He just didn't know why doing the right thing seemed so much harder now.

"_Why, Bam…why did you ever marry her if you weren't in love with her?" Ville sobbed helplessly, with his back pressed firmly against the wall to avoid any body contact with the American before him._

_Bam looked worn-out, his usual happy face lost into a whirlwind of misery and unsatisfied lust for the beautiful Finn he was denied to have._

"_I loved her, Ville, I still do." he rubbed his weary face with his hand. "But I love you even more, in ways I can never love __**her**__, I have been in love with you from the first time we met. I just didn't know what it was until I married Missy and found out having sex with her wasn't as enticing as the __**thought**__ of having sex with you. And I want you, Ville, I want you so bad that seeing you like this, so close to touch, and not being allowed to, is killing me inside. You're killing me, Ville; this unrequited love is killing me."_

_Ville knew if Bam was not this tired of everything, he would have been crying as well. Ville wanted to tell the man how much he loved him back; that this love between them was not unrequited, that the thought of having sex with Bam seemed like heaven to him. He wanted to confess that he had been in love with him as long as he had, and how his heart had been broken into pieces the night of Bam's wedding; how he had drunk himself into oblivion over the thought of losing Bam to a girl for good. But he bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, to stop himself from saying the wrong things and breaking his promise to Missy._

"_Then you should have never married her." He managed to let only the __**right**__ words come out of his mouth._

_Bam's ashen face took into Ville's wet profile. "Would you allow yourself to love me if I hadn't?" _

_Ville banged his head gently against the wall and let more tears escape from his closed lids. _

"_God, yes, Bammie, yes…don't you understand? Didn't you __**know**__?"_

_Something sparkled into those oceanic eyes of the American skater and Ville tried not to cringe as a soft hand stroked his wet cheek slowly, lovingly, and with a desperation to believe that was so grave Ville felt his heart was being grabbed and ripped out of his chest mercilessly._

"_Oh, God Ville…why didn't you tell me sooner? I…I just divorce Missy and then we can move in together; then it won't be wrong 'cause I'm not married anymore. Then we can love each other as freely as we deserve."_

_Bam leaned in for a kiss and Ville was too horrified to react. It wasn't happening; it couldn't be happening; Ville just hadn't heard what he thought he had; there was no way Bam had told those forbidden words to him._

'_No, no, no, no, no, no…' Ville screamed in his head, since his mouth was being locked into Bam's and couldn't let the words out._

_Bam missed the terrified, hopeless expression on Ville's beautiful face as he devoured the delicious mouth of a man whom he so badly wanted to love him back._

Ville wasn't aware he was crying as he gulped down the whole liquid in one intake. His hands suddenly started shaking madly as the reality of what he had done hit him like a ton of bricks and the empty glass fell on the ceramic floor and smashed into pieces with a loud bang. The sound rang into his ears and brought him to the present with a start. On wobbly feet, he went to the window to look at the rain and revive his memories for one last time. Then he touched the strings of his guitar fondly, loving the feel of them on his clammy skin and brought his fingers to his lips to plant a soft kiss on them. He refused to look into the mirror as he made his way back to his bed and slipped under the covers. He pulled the bedcover over his head, to hide his cowardice from the taunting world, and closed his eyes, only too aware of the fact that he would not be able to open them again.

"_I'll love you and want you as long as you're alive, Ville. And there's nothing you can do to stop me from wanting you so much."_

_Ville didn't tell Bam that there was indeed one thing he could still do to stop this sin from running deeper in their souls. He could take his life and vanish from Bam's life and heart forever._

_He just let Bam take his quivering lips into his mouth, though, and cursed himself for being so weak under the spell of the American…yet again._

Ville had not had such a peaceful sleep for a long time. Death was indeed his everlasting peace.

~TBC~


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: the only things true in this fiction are the names; even them, I'm not sure if I have had all down right ;-)

A/N: sorry, this is not an actual chapter, just a filler or sth. But had to be done, so I could show where Mige and Ville's relationship is standing. Please cope with it till the next chapter; thanks. Reviews will be appreciated; please don't be stingy with feedbacks!

My Dear Soot, hope you're still enjoying this fic.

**Chapter 3: My Heart Aches for Your Love**

Mige sighed heavily and took another sip from his almost-finished Jack Daniels. The living room of the house they had rented for their three-week stay in New York was empty, with Linde going out to buy some stuff and Burton and Gas going for a short drive around the countryside, which they were supposed to be back half an hour ago. Mige had refused to go out with them, saying he had a mild headache and wanted to take a nap, but in truth he just wanted to drink himself into a stupor. But what kind of a stupor it was if he could remember the reason for his drinking still?

He remembered the first day he had laid eyes on those beautiful, feline green eyes of Ville in Pop and Jazz school of Helsinki. Ville was only nine years old with slightly curly, brown hair and huge, green eyes and a pair of full lips that was just too perfect to be masculine, or even human for that matter. He had a shy smile that made a huge contrast with his too black clothes and seductive looks and had asked Mige if he could help him find his class; to which Mige had just stuttered an intangible reply, too transfixed by the surreal beauty of the young boy before him, but thankfully had managed to lead him to his destination. Mige was two years older than him and didn't share any classes with the beautiful boy but he didn't let that problem stand in his way to Ville. He was a big kid, and knew how to send a punch that would knock the other out for hours and Ville was very slender and fragile for his age and too damn pretty for his own good and avoided violence at all costs, so it just felt natural for Mige to protect his angelic friend from any harm and let the fate do her job in making Ville the most precious person in Mige's life.

He also remembered the day Ville announced he wanted to form a rock band. He was only fifteen at the time but he was talented in more ways than one; he had a voice as captivating as a siren's, even though he wasn't aware of the fact, and it was only Mige and Linde's insistence and the lack of a vocalist that Ville finally accepted to sing for the band. With the band having been formed, Mige and Ville became even closer, sharing dark, embarrassing secrets and growing so comfortable around each other that holding hands, hugging in public, kissing on the cheeks or even falling asleep in each other's arms were like a second-nature to them.

And Mige remembered the day he suddenly found out he was not as comfortable around Ville as he used to be; it was Ville's 19th birthday and there was this huge party at his rented apartment. Ville was looking specially radiating that night; curly, silky hair long enough to cover his pierced ears and brush his slender, exposed shoulders through the wide-collared loose jumper he was wearing, green eyes clear and vibrating, their beauty magnified by the dark line rimming them, and his lips were slightly glossed, which glistened softly as the light reflected on them. He was in all black, as usual, and the contrast between his pale complexion and his dark clothing was simply breathtaking. Everyone was having a great time and Ville allowed himself the luxury of drinking himself into oblivion, knowing there would be someone, more likely Mige, to carry his drunken ass upstairs to his bed when the party finished. But something went wrong and Ville had an asthma attack; he had stopped his medication for some weeks and the stress and the pressure of making their new album, as well as his new addiction to cigarettes had triggered the attack. As Ville's beautiful face went paler than normal and he started wheezing and gasping for breath while in Mige's arms, something just broke inside Mige's chest as Ville gasped 'I can't breathe'. And the thought of losing Ville was so poisonous Mige knew he would simply kill himself if Ville died. Bringing his face closer to Ville's pallid one, Mige did what his instinct told him to do; he attached his lips to those blue ones of Ville's and breathed precious air into his pleading mouth. After doing that for some minutes, Ville started breathing on his own and Mige broke the contact, only to make sure Ville was all right. There was this tired, yet gorgeous smile on those tempting lips and Ville was looking at him with hooded eyes. Then he leaned in to close the gap between them and placed a soft, grateful kiss on Mige's suddenly numb lips. 'Thank you' was all he said before passing out and leaving Mige with a burning sensation he could not find a name for.

But as the years passed and the strange, burning sensation intensified, Mige realized what it was he felt whenever he was around Ville; desire. Pure, blinding desire that grabbed his throat and restricted his airways and wouldn't let go until he could make at least the slightest contact with Ville's skin. Ville didn't mind his physical affection, he was one hell of a cuddly man himself, but the problem was that even when he could feel Ville's soft skin under his worshiping touch, he still burned from inside. He desired his friend, his best friend who was like a very dear brother to him, and he could not live with himself for having these sinful feelings for the gorgeous singer.

It wasn't that Ville was not gay; because with Ville these things never mattered. He was affectionate and quite sexual with the dirty jokes he made and the way he laughed or dressed or even talked…they all screamed seduction. He flirted with men, maybe in a little more subtle way than with women, but it was still flirtation and God was he damn good at it. He had even kissed Mige on several occasions, two of which while completely sober but ridiculously teasing. He had no idea what he did to Mige with that simple, silky touch of his lips; he never felt curious enough to run his hand downwards to feel Mige's arousal through the fabric of his pants. He never stayed awake long enough to hear Mige moaning his name as he jerked off in the bed next to his, thinking about him, dreaming about him, yearning for him.

And Mige just kept on burning inside. He knew his heart was now just a pile of ashes of a once great fire of desire. But the ashes were still scorching hot and slowly but surely killing him with their unbearable heat. He had stopped denying his love for the green-eyed singer long time ago; he didn't even go for pretending that he didn't care anymore…that he had forgotten how his ashen heart ached for the dark seducer that slept in a bed only some feet away from him, with nothing to cover the sacred temple of his body up but a white sheet that would get tangled around his slim hips during his peaceful sleep. And he would never know, the oblivious beauty that he was, that when he slept so angelic and devilish looking at the same time, his best friend, his supposed brother, his trusted band mate, would spend hours awake just gazing at his surreal, moonlit face.

And not jerking off to that face anymore; not lusting and drooling all over himself like he used to do; not getting a hard-on every 5 minutes after each mind-blowing orgasm; no, he just watched him sleep and let some stray tears spill from his eyes. He wouldn't allow himself to think either; because he knew if he ever did, there would be no coming back to the same, old safe track again.

But there were times his silent, confined love for the younger man just wanted to break free and scream his name in desperation and plea. Like when Ville oh-so-casually wounded his arms around his neck and leaned heavily against his chest, sometimes crying, sometimes chuckling as innocently as a kid, but most of the time just closing his eyes and drifting off. And when Mige breathed in Ville's intoxicating scent, when he got drunk on the silky feeling of his skin, when he felt his rhythmic heartbeats beneath his touch and his head went dizzy with an overwhelming desire…he knew he was dying a slow, agonizing death. Dying from love, and God how fucking much it hurt.

At first, the mere reason for his silent agony was that he was scared to lose Ville altogether if he confessed to his unusual, sinful love. He had seen what happened to long-time friends when one of them fell for the other and let them know of their love. He had been a victim to this cruelty when he was 13, falling in love with his classmate, a pretty girl he had grown up with. But she had rejected him, accusing him of having dirty thoughts about her while all she ever wanted to see in him was loyalty and a platonic love. And then she left him, because every kiss on the cheek, every touch on the skin, every dirty joke they shared now meant something else. So Mige hid his love for Ville, refusing to let fate play her cruel game with him again, and just let his love for the younger man grow deeper and deeper in his heart.

So deep that one day he snapped. He couldn't stand the pain any more. He couldn't keep on living with this burning desire inside. So he thought, even if his declaration meant losing Ville forever, so be it; at least he had set this hidden agony free. At least, he knew where he stood in this pain-stricken world. At least, he wouldn't be lying to Ville any more. But as if fate was indeed against him, the night Mige had decided to come clean with his feelings for the sinfully beautiful man, Ville had been quicker, launching himself into his paralyzed arms, sobbing his heart out, wetting his shirt with his crystalline tears and whimpering how madly in love he was with his friend and how fucking blind he was to his love and how cruelly he had told him that he was getting married to a girl. Yes, he was talking about Bam; Bam fucking Margera. That idiot. That fucking, stupid American man who had someone as precious as Ville in love with him and didn't give a damn. Mige had broken down with him at that night, clinching to Ville and crying for both Ville and himself, knowing how painful heartbreak felt and how many years it needed to grow numb again.

But these memories, as painful and torturous as they were, were still memories and should not have mattered; they all belonged to the past and should have stayed there as well. What mattered now was that Mige had lost his chance with Ville, Ville seemed to be over his unrequited love for Bam, and Bam was happily and obliviously married to his beloved girl. They were all friends still, even after what each of them were through and that was what mattered.

Mige kept telling himself this as he took his last sip at the can. His eyes stung for a moment and he blamed the burning taste of the drink; even though deep down he knew what, or rather who, was the one to blame; and it wasn't the alcohol, or even himself. Mige turned his blurred eyes to his wrist watch and noticed he had still half an hour left to go upstairs to wake Ville up. But he didn't have anything else to do other than drinking to the point of forgetting his own name as he wallowed in self-pity and regret, so with a deep sigh he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and spared a quick glance at his reflection in the mirror hung above the fireplace, ignoring the haggard face starring back, and heading upstairs…to wake up the reason for his heart agony.

~TBC~


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: nope, c'mon guys, we already know none of this has happened! That's why I'm putting this on a fanFICTION site!

A/N: hmm, this chapter may seem a little weird; well my whole fic does, apologies in advance. (and sth else; in chapter 2 I'd written Ville locked the door, which was a silly mistake on my part; he didn't lock the door, he just closed it. That would complicate things. Yeah, it's far easier this way. Sorry for the mistake.)

**Chapter 4: Losing You**

Crying yourself to sleep

Praying you could forget

Yet keeping the pictures and memories

So close to your chest

Do you want to forget or not?

You can forget the pain of a heart you never cut

If you could just let yourself stop bleeding

From these old, long-healed wounds

Of a battle you never fought

Mige closed the door slowly behind him, and for a moment, just stayed there with his back leaning against the door, eyes resting on the heavenly form of Ville, who was, oddly enough, sleeping with his clothes on. He looked so surreal asleep, with his face completely relaxed and void of any facial, human expressions. His long, dark lashes casting a sleeping beauty shadow over his sculpted cheekbones, his long, silky hair fanning around his face like gentle waves of dark water, and his slightly parted lips, so heartbreakingly perfect, begging to be kissed awake. Mige never got tired of looking at that face. And even though it hurt so much losing himself in the flawless planes of Ville's divine face, being the masochist that he was, Mige would spend hours gazing at Ville, searching for and finding what he knew he could never have and with every second that passed, and the deeper the blade dug into his battered heart, Mige would find himself begging for more, desperate eyes pleading with Ville to bury the blade into his heart as far as he could, and then he knew he was addicted to this unending pain he could never quit.

Mige stood next to Ville's bed and called his name softly. He knew Ville was a heavy sleeper and he had to shake the sleeping man awake, but he wanted to prolong making contact with Ville's body as much as he could. He was a coward, he was an idiot, call him whatever you want, but he was pretty drunk and high on his lust-filled memories, and here was Ville, completely vulnerable and beautiful, and as much as it hurt admitting it to himself, Mige didn't trust himself around a sleeping Ville any more. After three more gentle calls and seeing no signs of Ville waking up, Mige swallowed his fear and touched Ville's silk-clad shoulder with a trembling hand.

"Ville, Ville wake up. We gotta get ready for the gig." Ville didn't stir.

With a frown Mige knelt beside the bed and as he did so, something sharp cut through the fabric of his pants and dug into his leg. With a small yelp Mige looked down at his leg, only to find a large piece of glass sticking out of his bleeding flesh. Wincing in pain slightly numbed by the alcohol in his blood, Mige pulled the glass out and stared dumbly at the bloodied object. What was such a big piece of glass doing on the floor?

And as his eyes roamed all over the floor, he found more broken pieces scattered around the bed; Ville's bed…broken pieces of a glass…Ville's glass. Ville was asleep. He didn't even stir.

Eyes wide in horror, Mige put his hand on Ville's forehead, only to find it terrifyingly hot. Mige's heart thumped madly against his chest as his hand burned upon Ville's feverish skin.

"Ville? Goddamn it, Ville, wake up! C'mon, man, wake up!"

Mige wasn't aware he was crying or that he was shaking Ville so hard, his delicate skin would surely bruise the next day. He just knew Ville had a high fever and he wasn't waking up; and that broken pieces of glass was everywhere and…and Ville's asthma medication was laying empty on the nightstand.

"God damn you, Ville, what have you done?" Mige's soft, petrified whisper cut through the thick air of fear. Why was the bottle empty? Where were the rest of the pills? Mige was sure the bottle had been full, because when he had picked it up after Ville had dropped it, he had felt its weight and heard the little noises they made as the pills hit the wall of the bottle.

Mige looked back at Ville, who looked for all the world to be in a deep, peaceful sleep, and knew instantly what had happened. Ville had overdosed with his Theo-durs and even though Mige didn't really know of the side-effects of overdosing with Theo-dur he knew it was bad; so bad that it had given Ville such a high fever that wouldn't let him wake up.

Mige was really terrified. He gathered Ville's limp form into his arms and buried his face into the crook of his neck as he cried his fear out. The logical part of his brain, which was miraculously still working through the haze of alcohol and terror, was telling him to call for an ambulance, but the panicked part of his brain was telling him to hold on to Ville's feverish body and never let go, because if he did, Ville would slip like precious liquid through his fingers and join the eternity.

But the hot flesh against his cheek, and the slow beatings of a heart against his chest, assured him that Ville was still alive and needed medical treatment immediately. With a chocked sob, Mige lowered Ville's unresponsive body to the bed and hovered over him to grab for the phone that was on the nightstand. With trembling, numb fingers Mige dialed 911 and through ragged breathing tried to explain to the woman on the other line how critical Ville's condition was and where they lived. The woman assured him an ambulance would be there in less than 5 minutes in her kind, soothing voice and offered to talk to him on the phone until the ambulance arrived. But Mige declined, knowing whatever calming word the woman was going to give him would not reduce his panic and fear for his Ville. So after hanging up, he took Ville in his arms again, rocking him as he sung a Finnish lullaby into his ears, tears running fast on his cheeks as he prayed anyone who was listening to let Ville be all right; and he waited for either the ambulance or one of his band mates to come. 3 minutes later, but to Mige 3 centuries later, the doorbell rung and Mige sprung to his feet and rushed downstairs to open the door for the paramedics who were carrying a stretcher with them. Mige led them to Ville's bedroom (vaguely wondering why he hadn't took Ville downstairs to make it easier and faster for the paramedics to carry Ville into the ambulance) and stood aside as two strong-built men lifted Ville's slender form and lowered him carefully into the stretcher. He somehow managed to climb down the stairs without tripping as he followed the men and Ville into the ambulance.

As soon as they put Ville in the ambulance, another paramedic placed a respirator mask over Ville's mouth and checked his vital signs. Mige just kept a firm hold on Ville's hand, silently praying and pleading for his life, and finding himself promising to himself if Ville survived this, he would confess to his green-eyed angel how deeply in love he was with him; had been for more than 18 years. And he didn't care if his confession would take Ville away from him; he was losing Ville already… and this time the loss would be permanent.

…

Burton forgot for a moment that he was in a hospital as he shouted, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN HE'S OVERDOSED?"

Linde just stood with his back against the wall, face drawn and scared-looking as Burton kept shouting nonsense at a crying Mige. Gas was sitting in the hospital's infamous plastic chair, filing the information sheet with trembling hands. A nurse passed by and asked Burton to keep his voice down or else she had to make Burton leave; Burton just glared dangerously at the young nurse, telling her to fuck off because his friend was dying in this very damn hospital and that 'Don't you fucking dare tell me to shut up!'. Mige just kept crying harder, Gas was still struggling with the paper and it was Linde who was calm enough to apologize to the offended nurse and promise her they would all calm down.

"I don't know! He just…he just told me he would take a nap. He said he was expecting an attack! Oh, God, I should have gone with him to his room! I'm a fucking idiot! He told me he might have an attack and I just…oh, God, I just left him alone." Mige's broken voice could hardly be heard among his violent sobs. Linde put his arm around his shoulder and Mige leaned against his chest, gratefully hiding his crying, ashamed face into the crook of Linde's neck. Burton was still furious.

"I don't understand. It wasn't the first time Ville took his medicine. He would surely know how many damn pills to take to prevent the attack, wouldn't he? This is ridiculous! Overdosed? He wasn't a fucking child, Mige, he was 30!"

Gas suddenly looked up, eyes flashing with anger. "Stop using past tense, you fucking idiot! Ville hasn't died yet, you know?"

Mige whimpered against Linde's neck. "It's all my fault…all my fucking fault!"

"It wasn't your fault, Mige, and you know it." Linde's tone was pleasantly calm and logical. Mige urged him to keep talking in his mind. "Burton's right, in a way. Ville's been using Theophylline as long as we know him. I don't believe what he did was an accident."

Mige's heart skipped a beat. "What are you saying, Linde?" he whispered in a shaky voice.

It was Burton who answered him. "It was a suicide attempt! Ville was trying to kill himself! THAT FUCKIGN IDIOT!"

Burton punched the wall in his fury and a passing-by patient turned to look at him with huge, scared eyes.

"But why would he want to do that?" asked Gas, utterly confused. "I thought this was the best moment of his life; what he was waiting for since he was 15. Why would he want to kill himself now of all times?"

Burton gave him an odd look. His voice was calmer with tiredness as he spoke, "the point is not why he wanted to kill himself now; the point is why he wanted to do that at all."

Mige was still clutching to Linde's shirt. "He…he told me he felt sorta out of place in here; that he didn't belong here. He was sitting for two hours in his chair without moving…and when I asked him why he was so depressed and alone…this was all he gave me for an answer. I was so stupid to believe it was all that there was to his story; I should have known better than believe his lie; I should have noticed there was something wrong with him. I'm his fucking brother for fuck's sake!"

Two hours later, when the grim-looking doctor came out of IC room, where Ville had been, Mige was still in Linde's arms, Gas was trying to distract himself by reading a newspaper and Burton was pacing up and down. When the doctor cleared his throat, all four nervous faces turned to lock eyes with those grave, gray eyes of the man.

"I'm sorry." Three tiny words, and Mige's world came crushing down around him. He barely heard Linde gasp as he fell into the inviting blanket of darkness.

* * *

Cliffy! I always wanted to have one of those cliff-thingy [sighs happily]. I hope you're not mad at me. I promise I won't make you wait very long for the next up-date!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **do I have to write this every time? Oh, well, none of these ever happened…I'm not implying that they did or that I wish they did; hell, no, we all want our favorite band of all time to be forever safe and happy, straight or not doesn't really matter ;-)

**A/n: **I know this chapter is really short, but I promise the next will be much longer. Ok, I confess, I suck at writing angst (or writing in general) and I'm very grateful you faithful readers are bearing with my stuff; my special thanks to Soot and The Nurse Who Loved Me who reviewed and made my day. Love you.

a/n: i just posted another Ville fanfic; it's a one-shot (and a rather long one may i add) and it's called 'And He Knew It Too'. please check it out and make my day.

**Chapter 5: Death only a breath away**

"I'm sorry." Said the old doctor, beads of sweat still lined up on his wrinkled forehead, eyes looking sad, and Linde gasped in terror. He felt Mige go limp into his arms, but before he could look down to see what had happened to Mige, the doctor continued. "We did our best to prevent this, but I'm afraid Mr. Valo has slipped into a coma."

Linde just stared panic-stricken, his brain suddenly numb all over, and even though a 'coma' did not always mean 'death', Linde could not find any condolence in it. He hugged Mige's unconscious form closer to his chest and felt a hot line of tears run down his cheeks. He didn't know why Ville had done this. Ville had never acted suicidal for once. Especially these few days they were staying in America for their tour, Ville looked more radiant and vivacious than ever before. What had driven the strong young man Linde knew for all his life into taking his life?

Linde suddenly hated himself for being so ignorant of the demons Ville had been fighting inside.

"W-what happens now?" asked Gas weakly, not really wanting to know.

The doctor, Mr. McLorene as read the tag on his white coat, sighed and wiped the sweats on his forehead with a handkerchief. "Well, if you had brought Mr. Valo to the hospital sooner, we could have probably prevented him from slipping into a coma; a little later and we couldn't do anything for him. But right now, all we can do is to wait and pray. He's put under a respirator, for he can't breathe on his own and we can't say how long it will take him to wake up. It could be a few days or a few months…"

Mige, having come around somewhere during the doctor's speech, cut him off, looking as terrified as he felt inside. "Or he may never wake up at all."

A grave silent loomed over the four mourning men and no-one felt brave enough to break it. Mige was now so exhausted that he could not sum up the strength for shedding more tears; he felt like he had slipped into some sort of trance, his body felt like a dead weight to him and his mind was completely blank; he was feeling like a man who had gone to sleep while being utterly worn-out and at an ungodly time at that, too and now that he had finally woken up, after years of restless sleep, his body was too numb for him to move it around. He knew the moment he had laid eyes on the unconscious form of a man he could never have, the moment the venomous thought of not seeing those brilliant, lovely green eyes laughing merrily at him ever again sipped through his mind , a part of him died forever. It wasn't his love for the younger man, or his hope of finally getting to know how he felt in every inch of his body. It was his absolute faith in the fact that Ville would be always there for him to be painfully in love with. But now he had lost that faith, for he knew Ville was as close to death as he was to Mige's heart. No-one was safe from the cold, cruel clutches of death, and with a shattered heart beyond repair Mige now understood Ville had always been just a single, shallow breath away from death; his beauty that caused him more trouble than any advantages, making him the target for street rapists and the leers, beatings and humiliations he had to take from the bullies at school. His asthma that had developed over the years, growing more of a threat with the way Ville tried to pretend it was not that serious by stopping his medication and leaving his inhaler behind. His terrible addiction to cigarettes that seemed unstoppable now that he had stopped drinking altogether. And his obsession with darkness and depression, the way he seemed to thrive on it, like with every agony his heart went through, he looked more alive, more physically there, more touchable and real. Ville had always been so intertwined with death that telling the two apart was like trying to rip Ville's heart out of his chest. It was ironically so easy to assume that a man who had dissolved so deep in death that he had become the death itself, would be forever invincible.

"Can we see him though?"

With a start, Mige resurfaced from the flood of his disarrayed thoughts and noticed Linde was still holding him close in his arms and Burton was talking to the doctor. He looked warily at the doctor as he nodded his head and his shattered heart suddenly dropped at the thought of seeing Ville unconscious and hooked up to various beeping machines. He was scared, like a child scared of seeing the monster in his nightmare come alive, to see how depended Ville was on a respirator that without it he would not even be able to do the simplest thing vital for staying alive.

He couldn't see Ville like that and the realization hit him hard in the face, like a fierce slap by a hand that belonged to someone he loved with his whole heart.

"But I need one of you to talk to the hospital's psychologist about some important things concerning Mr. Valo and his current condition. Among you, who is the closest to him?"

Suddenly Mige felt the weight of his friends stares at his hunched form and his heart clenched painfully inside his chest. He knew that he was the closest to Ville out of the four of them but realizing that the others knew that as well, felt more unbearable than he thought it would. Mige couldn't sum up the courage to look at his friends, to see the expectation or the accusation in their eyes, so he just lifted his head from Linde's shoulder and looked at the gray eyes of the doctor instead.

"I am." His shaky whisper was barely audible but the doctor knew he was the one just by the looks the other three men were giving him.

Mige felt Linde squeezing his shoulder in an encouraging manner. "I can do this if you want."

Without giving it a second thought, Mige shook his head, refusing the gentle offer. "No, Lily, it's fine. I'll do it. After all, I was the one Ville talked to before…before all this happened."

Mige wasn't surprised that he couldn't say 'suicide' and 'Ville' in the same sentence; he just wondered how long it would take him to say suicide without remembering what Ville had done to himself; or looking at Ville and not be reminded of the fact that he had once attempted to take his life.

"Are you sure, Mige? You know I wasn't just offering; I would really do it."

Mige tried to smile at Linde's pale, concerned face. "I know you would. But I'll be fine, really. I'm a big man."

With that Linde stood up and rested his hand on Mige's shoulder for a brief moment. "And with a big heart."

For some reason Mige could not meet Linde's eyes but could feel the burning stare Linde was directing at him.

"Mikko, you're not…you're not avoiding visiting Ville, are you?"

Startled that Linde had read his hand so easily, Mige stuttered, "No, of course not…why would I? I'll join you guys, hmm as soon as I finished talking to that shrink."

Linde nodded his head with a touch of the saddest smile on his lips and Mige just stared after him as he disappeared inside the room where Ville was being kept, Burton and Gas already there, and turned around as the doctor spoke up. "Would you please follow me to my office? There you can meet Mrs. Thompson and have a private, comfortable conversation about your friend, Mr. Valo."

Mige only nodded his head and stood on shaky feet. He tried not to think as he followed the doctor down the hall but failed miserably. The last thing on his mind as he pushed the door open was how much longer he could prolong visiting Ville, lying unconscious and pale and barely breathing on the hospital bed.

* * *

please continue reading; i promise the next will be much better. thanks.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I'm running out of original things to write in the disclaimer, and yet these wonderful people are still not mine…it's not fair.

**A/N:** why don't you review?

**Chapter 6: The Yellow Session**

Mige didn't want to be there; perhaps if the shrink was a man in his late 40's, or even a young man he wouldn't mind the questions that much, but the problem was that the shrink was not a man, either old or young, but a woman, and a very young and beautiful one at that, too. She had clear blue eyes and perfect blonde hair-natural or otherwise, it looked almost too good on her- with a honeyed smile that looked too forced to be genuine, and though her nametag read E. M. Thompson, she had asked him- in her too sweet voice- to call her Elena. She didn't necessarily remind him of a prostitute; her conservative clothes and lack of make-up on her beautiful face didn't give her that image. But she looked too perfect for an ordinary shrink, and the fact that she knew completely well who Mige and Ville really were- despite her effort to pretend otherwise- made it rather hard for Mige to stop thinking of her as an annoying paparazzi; especially the way she wrote every little detail down as Mige tentatively answered her too personal questions- things Mige was sure would make any interviewer kill to know about- made Mige feel very uncomfortable. He really, really didn't want to be there.

"I guess I'm right to assume you and Mr. Valo have known each other for a long time?"

She didn't need to make her statement sound like a question; any average fan would surely have no problem assuming such a thing. Needless to say, she was- by no means- an average fan.

Mige answered her anyway; that was only polite.

"Yeah, since he was 9 and I was 11. We became friends right after we met at school." Mige stopped giving out more information as the blank expression on Elena's face changed to a calculative one; that couldn't be good.

"Really? Then it must be more than 20 years you two have known each other; a pretty long time, isn't it Mige?"

She addressed him with his first name only because she had asked if she could and Mige, out of politeness, had said that she could; but she still called Ville Mr. Valo, probably to sound a little less than a HIM fanatic that she was.

Mige thought a little shrug would be enough for a confirmation.

"And during all these years, have you ever felt that your friend is suffering from something major? A great loss perhaps? A yearning he could never have? Something he would be heartbroken over?"

"Ahh…" Mige knew it wasn't the way to talk to a shrink- despite the fact that he had never talked to a shrink before in his entire life- but he couldn't help trying to be as secretive about Ville's personal life as he could. "I don't know; I mean, Ville has never been your typical guy, you know. He's one of those kinds who gets happy over melancholy things. His songs have a touch of depression to them, but that's the case with a lot of songwriters nowadays."

Elena raised one of her perfect brows, apparently not quite satisfied with the answer.

"Can you please elaborate? I want to know how you see Mr. Valo as an individual. How he really is inside and how he portraits himself to the public."

Mige shifted in his chair, trying to find a way out of this painful discussion about a man who was in a coma at the moment, with a high chance of never waking up again. He had never talked this seriously about Ville with anyone. Most of the things he said about him were idiotic jokes and made-up stories that were said more for fun than anything else. Speaking about him like this, especially to a shrink that only God knew what was going on her mind, not only felt uncomfortable but betraying as well. Like talking about Ville's personal life, when he wasn't there to jump in every time Mige touched upon a sensitive subject, was like throwing any trust Ville had in him away.

"Please, Mige, don't hold back anything. This session is only going to help your friend's mental recovery. I hope you understand that anything that we talk about today is definitely confidential and not a word will leave this room. This is only between me and you, Mige."

Somehow, the smile that she gave him was not as faked as the one she gave in her greeting. Despite his better judgment, Mige found it a little easier to talk now.

"Yeah, I know…it's just that, this is my first time with a shrink and I don't know what to say…and it's not about my stuff you know? When you're talking about somebody else's, especially the one you…ah…are very close to, you can't help feeling…uneasy."

Elena nodded her head, with the trace of her genuine smile still on her lips.

"I completely understand, Mige. It's actually a natural reaction. That's why I'm asking you to trust me. I want you to know how this information is vital for Mr. Valo's health and try to ignore this uneasy feeling. You are doing this for him, Mige, don't forget it."

With a sigh, Mige decided to just take the bull by the horns and do what was asked of him. He was doing this for Ville, he kept telling himself that.

"Ville is the most sensitive man I have ever known. He may look as if he doesn't give a damn but in truth he can get hurt by people's rude remarks very easily. He just laughs his way out of these hurtful situations, pretending he's cool about it, but the marks they leave on him, sometimes are too deep to ignore. He's also very insecure. He makes a lot of friends, sure, with a man with his charisma this is a natural process anyway, but he holds too much of himself back. He's scared of getting attached, because…because he believes the people he once thought as true friends will leave him alone one day. I guess that's about his beauty and fame. He knows those two things are not permanent and thinks they are the only reasons why people want to be around him…so he's always felt insecure in his relationships. Don't get me wrong, he's a loving man; gives his love and affection freely to anyone who seeks for it but he finds it hard to take anyone on their words about them loving him back."

During his rather long speak, Elena just nodded her head and continued scribbling on her clipboard, almost as fast as Mige talked. Even though Mige had no illusion about her missing out a word he spoke, still he appreciated the fact that she was not using a voice-recorder.

"What about his girlfriends? How was his relationship with them?"

Thinking about those kinds of questions always left a bitter taste in Mige's mouth. He tried not to show how much he was affected by it, though.

"Err…he didn't have many girlfriends; just two, Susanna and Jonna. His relationship with Susanna was very secretive. He rarely talked about her with us and we didn't bug him too much about it either; just seeing him happy like that was enough for us. They looked very happy together, I thought Ville had finally found the love of his life," which broke Mige's heart, but Elena didn't need to know that; just like how Ville didn't, "but I don't know what happened between them, Ville never told me and asked me to promise him to never bring up that subject. They were together one day and the next…they just weren't. Ville looked sad, but not overly so, like he was somehow expecting this for a long time, or perhaps he was the one who ended the relationship, I don't know…but he remained single for a long time after that. Said he had lost his faith in love; but that was only a part of what he really was feeling inside. If Ville tells the media he doesn't like sth, it means he actually hates the thing and if he says he hates it, then it means he loathes it with a vengeance. Do you know what I mean?"

Elena looked like she actually knew what he was talking about, but he had to make sure anyway.

"Yes, I do. You are saying that when Ville had told the media about his loss of faith in love, he meant it much graver than that, right?" Mige nodded. "So you mean his break-up with Susanna had a lot greater effect on his life than he let on?"

"Yeah, I guess, but his relationship with Jonna was a total disaster. There was nothing secretive about them; they had fights every single day, verbal and even sometimes physical, which Ville couldn't take very well. And I'm saying this because Ville couldn't hold back his emotions as well as he did back then with Susanna and he ended up pissed-drunk every night they had a fight. He also would open up to me and tell me how Jonna was hurting him, damaging him beyond repair. I tried so hard to talk him out of this relationship but he wouldn't listen; even as drunk as he was, he'd still stand his ground, saying it was necessary for reasons he never told me." But Mige knew anyway; it had something to do with Bam and Ville's unrequited love. He was only continuing his relationship with Jonna because he wanted to get Bam out of his head and life. He thought if he had a steady relationship, then he would start to get his life back on track again. Needless to say it didn't work.

"What happened with Jonna?" she asked, now fully interested.

"Well, they had physical fights, like, three or four times a year. Most of which ended with Ville getting slapped; even once his head was nearly broken because of something Jonna had thrown at him. But the last time they had a fight Ville got a punctured eardrum and then we knew this shit was getting out of hand. One of their neighbors called the police as their yelling got louder and louder and then Ville called me to come and sort things out. I was so furious I just wanted to…kill the woman. She was just standing there, bailing her eyes out, looking as if she was the one injured and Ville was pale and out of breath, probably about to have an asthma attack, trying to gain a sense over his surroundings. I told Lily to take Ville to a hospital, while I stayed there trying to get rid of the police. I waited until they left and then started throwing Jonna's stuff out of the house. I guess she was in a state of shock, because she didn't do anything to stop me- not that she could even if she tried- and I told her to get her fucking clutches away from Ville and get the fuck out of his life. I guess she got the message, because the next morning there was no track of her in the house, with her stuff all gone. She just left a note to Ville, which I tossed into the bin with no amount of guilt whatsoever and when Ville got back to his home, he didn't say anything. Didn't ask anything. Just put his face into his hands and…cried."

Mige's throat tightened at the memory and his eyes started to sting with burning, unshed tears. It was the worst day of his life, seeing Ville in such a miserable state. He had seen Ville cry before, but none of those times had ever been this heart-wrenching and real. Perhaps it was the fact that Ville was a grown-up man in his 30's, and seeing him cry like that only indicated how deep the invisible wounds ran in his heart, or perhaps it was the things Ville didn't say, crying silently to himself and letting his grief consume him as he hid himself behind the veil of his unspoken agony. It was one thing seeing Ville cry, but not knowing what he was crying over made Mige feel helplessly worthless. If he couldn't prevent bad things from happening to Ville, he at least wanted to be there to take the pain away from the beautiful man. But how could he, when Ville kept shutting him out like that? What could he do to regain Ville's trust? He didn't even know when he had lost that trust. What had gone so wrong? God was he helpless.

"Mige, can I ask you something very personal? You can of course decline to answer, but remember that your answer will be safe with me."

Mige wasn't entirely comfortable with the change of topic, but he had spent quite a while speaking about things he didn't want to even admit to himself, so he just nodded, hoping this entire session would somehow help Ville's recovery.

"Do you have feelings for Mr. Valo?"

Mige stopped breathing as his mind went into an overdrive. He knew what Elena meant by 'feelings', but he could still pretend that he didn't.

"Of course I have feelings for him. He's my best friend after all."

But Elena was not one to fool. She pursed her lips into a thin line, looking hard at him. It was obvious she was having a battle inside of her head. On one side there was her duty as a psychologist and on the other was this annoying part of her that labeled her as a hardcore fan who would give her soul to know what was happening behind closed doors of Ville's personal life. She wouldn't press the matter if she wanted to behave like a professional psychologist would do. Well, that was Mige's logic anyway. He wasn't an expert at reading people. That was Ville's territory.

"No, I didn't mean it like that. I was asking if you love him, and not as a brother or a best friend but something more than that. Like are you in love with him?"

Mige knew he was trapped. Even if he declined to answer, it was only going to prove Elena that the answer was a yes. But what was there for him to lose anyway? He was so goddamn tired, both emotionally and physically, that he was suddenly bold enough not to care about the consequences anymore.

"Yeah." He chocked out the word, only too aware he was admitting his love for Ville at last; it wasn't to the person he wanted it to, but it was still something. Mige didn't know what to think of it, though.

"Does he know?" her tone was soft, apparently noticing the fragile state Mige was in.

"No." Mige didn't know why he wanted to cry so badly.

"But do you want him to know?"

That was an odd question. Of course Mige wanted him to know. That was the idea, wasn't it? But…the more Mige thought about it the more uncertain he grew. He couldn't afford Ville knowing about his well-kept secret. It was only going to shatter him. Bam had changed a lot of things about Ville, and definitely not for the better. If he hadn't been so goddamn persistent in making himself a part of Ville's life, then perhaps Mige could still hope that his declaration of love to Ville would make them both happy. But now, after everything that had happened to Ville, Mige wasn't sure if he could handle the fact that Mige was so much in love with him. He couldn't do that to Ville; he wasn't that selfish. No, he was far from it. Ville's happiness was now the only thing that mattered; Mige wished that he knew how to make him happy, though.

"Mige? I asked if you want him to know that you're in love with him."

"No." Mige was startled how firm his answer was. "No, I don't. It's not gonna change anything; it may even make everything worse."

"I know you have your reasons, Mige, but keeping such strong feelings hidden is only going to hurt you both at the end. What if Ville has the same feelings for you, but isn't actually aware of that? What if your love is what he's after? What if you are the only person Ville can trust to love? Don't you think hiding your feelings for him is some kind of a betrayal? If he finds out on his own, how do you think he's going to react?"

For some unknown reasons, Mige felt anger clouding his mind. He just wanted to throw things and scream. He was so frustrated he didn't know what to do with himself.

"And what if he feels disgusted about the fact? What if he feels betrayed because I was in love with him for such a long time without him knowing? What if he blames himself for not finding out this sooner and withdraws from me? What if he just shatters like the delicate creature that he is and I can never bring him out of his misery? What if he just tries to take his life again?"

Mige wasn't crying; he was too exhausted for that. He wasn't even shouting. But the look on Elena's face indicated that as if he was. She somehow looked offended. But that was ridiculous. If anything, it was Mige who should have been offended.

"Mige, I know this is a very hard time for you. I also know that you're confused and don't know what the best action is to take. I want you to think about this deeply, because this is not something to be taken lightly. It can and will change a lot of things. Perhaps this love you have for Mr. Valo is the only way to help him."

Mige had had enough. He couldn't stand hearing that woman talking nonsense about things she sure as hell had no idea about. With a rage he didn't know where had come from he got up and in doing so, sent the chair to the floor.

"You don't know shit about Ville and me! Don't you dare pretend that you do! Who the fuck do you think you are, anyway? Trying to poke your nose into our lives! This fucking session is over." And with that he stormed out of the room, with his face red and breathing labored, feeling very stupid for saying so much about Ville that weren't going to help him in the least. He couldn't help feeling he was played a fool, being dragged into a fangirl's plan to get information from him.

Finally he got to Ville's room, but didn't go inside. Linde was standing outside, looking cautiously at Mige, as if he was a ticking bomb about to explode. And perhaps he was, and Linde just knew where the button to push was to make the bomb finally go off.

"Bam's on his way to here."

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	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: None of these happened, you know the deal…oh, and perhaps I got a little inspiration from the movie 'Big Fish'. The title of this chapter, as you all know, has been ispired by one of HIM's songs 'Gone with the Sin' since I couldn't come up with anything else.

A/N: Read the dialogues Ville and Linde exchange in the flashback as if they are in Finnish ;-)

A/N: I was listening to 'My Twin' by Katatonia while writing this chapter; not sure if it had helped the angst, as I wanted it to.

**Chapter 7: Gone With the Pain**

Linde could still recall, even after so many years that had passed and so many things that had happened, those words that they had exchanged back when he and Ville were only 14 years old. He could even remember the way Ville looked, beautiful as ever, in his casual black clothes. He didn't look necessarily sad, but there was something in his too green eyes that didn't give him the carefree look a boy his age, and in his situation, would more likely have. Linde could not place that look at that time, and even now he was not sure if he had got it right. Ville was always wiser for his age, despite the effort he made to hide the fact behind his silly jokes and childlike innocence. His intelligence sometimes bordered on dark edges, causing him to have a pessimistic view over his life. No fourteen-year-old kid should speak the way he did, about things like death and life. No fourteen-year-old kid should think as darkly as he did. But Ville was not any fourteen-year-old kid and Linde found this truth about him when it was too late; too late for what, Linde did not know. For saving him? But did Ville need to be saved? And even if he did, what did he have to be saved from?

Sometimes Linde had to admit to himself that he didn't know Ville as much as he claimed he did.

"_Have you ever thought about the way you die, Lily?"_

_Ville was sitting on a swing in the park, idly swaying to and fro. Linde was on a bench at the right side of the swing, with the papers of his assignment in his hand, nibbling at the end of his pencil to come up with an answer for the unending questions. He looked up at Ville when he suddenly spoke up, more surprised at Ville suddenly talking rather than the question itself._

"_No, not really; haven't had enough time these days for much thinking what with these stupid assignments."_

_Linde's answer was light-hearted, since he didn't really know what to make of Ville's out of blue question. Ville was looking up at the sky, his brown locks flying around his angelic face as he sped up. He suddenly slowed down and locked eyes with Linde's, that unreadable look once more in his beautiful, clear green eyes._

"_But I have. And it's not gonna be pretty."_

_Linde only waited for him to continue. He never used those encouraging words to urge the other to go on speaking; his eyes alone could tell if he was interested or not, and Ville was an expert in reading people's eyes._

"_It's gonna be very painful; lots of blood…and it's damn slow. Perhaps it takes me hours to finally die, and when I do, I'll be very grateful 'cause I won't be in pain anymore. I won't be alone though, so that's good. I'll have my beloved next to me all the time I'm bleeding my life out, and they're holding my hand, brushing my hair away from my pale, sweaty face, telling me I'm gonna be alright. I'll tell them it doesn't matter anymore, 'cause I have everything I've been after for all my life, the most important of all, someone who loves me enough to put my head in their lap and not to mind the fact that I'm bleeding all over their expensive clothes. Then they will tell me they love me, and the last words I say before I give up the ghost will be 'I love you, too'. I guess I'll die happy, if a little painfully."_

_The smile on Ville's cupid lips somehow looked as dark as his irises. Linde just tried to ignore the uneasy feeling that had risen up in the pit of his stomach the whole time Ville was describing his death._

"_But why would you want to die that way?" Linde just couldn't understand Ville's way of thinking sometimes._

_By now, the swing was completely still and Ville was looking so hard at him Linde could actually feel his green gaze on his face, like it was something solid. His heart would skip a beat every time Ville looked at him like that._

"_It's not the way I __**want**__ to die, Lily." And his voice was as dark as his gaze. "It's the way I die."_

Linde wondered if Ville had also thought about suicide back when he was talking about his death; had he thought about the possibility; and if he had, how had he pictured it? Would it be a fall from a roof, painful and bloody, or a rope around the neck, painful and slow, or just some pills, no pain, no blood and time that didn't matter because you were asleep the whole time your body was shutting down. This was not the way he went. There would be blood, there would be pain, and Ville's beloved one would be the only one at his side, brushing his hair aside, telling him everything would be alright. But this sight that Linde was sure had been burnt into his memory forever was not real; it just couldn't be. The fourteen-year-old Ville had talked so firmly about the way he died that Linde had believed him. This wasn't the picture of Ville's death, on a hospital bed, in the hospital clothes, breathing only because the machines forced oxygen down his resisting throat into his unresponsive lungs. Perhaps that was why Linde was taking Ville's suicide better than Mige, Burton and Gas. They didn't know Ville was not supposed to die like this. They didn't know Ville would die in a pool of warm, crimson blood. They didn't know; they weren't there. Linde wanted so badly to tell all of these to them, but couldn't find the words. But they were there; all of them. He could remember each word, every feeling behind them. But they wouldn't sound the same through his mouth. He believed in them because he could hear Ville's voice repeating those words. The others wouldn't for they lacked Ville's dark, deep voice echoing in their head. Linde couldn't stand the heavy atmosphere in the room; couldn't keep looking at something he was sure was just a figment of his dark imagination. The way Ville looked, so pale and vulnerable and…gone, it wasn't real; it couldn't be. The waves of his black hair, once surging and wild, were now still and motionless, drowning his pallid face in. The thick canopy of his eyelashes didn't flutter against his smooth cheeks, like the times they did when he was asleep and dreaming; and his chest so still Linde had to put his hand on it to feel his heart beating faintly, fragilely beneath his touch. Ville would wake up, he was sure of that, but he couldn't be a witness to this nightmare any longer. If Linde didn't get close enough to catch Ville's unique scent through the hospital gown, if he didn't bring his hand to touch the smooth skin of his cheek, if he didn't just stand there, listening to the beeping machines and the looming silence of his two friends, then perhaps he could still pretend that this was all a dream; a very bad dream, but a dream nonetheless, which he was going to wake up from in mere minutes.

Linde suddenly got up to his feet and rushed out of the room, without saying where he was off to. He let the door slam shut behind him and as soon as the rush of the florescent light hit his face, he felt he had woken up. He was still in the hospital, true, but here, there was no comatose Ville, breathing through a respirator, unaware of everything that went on around him. Linde rested his head against the wall, and closed his eyes, trying to block the images of the looming hospital and the damn, sterile smell and the noises all around him, trying to picture himself in one of their latest concerts whose memory was still fresh in his mind, remembering his guitar, remembering the rush of adrenaline, remembering the cheering of the crowd, but most of all remembering Ville's voice- sexy, hypnotizing, dark- as it ran through the night and made the most unreachable dreams seem possible. Could he hear that voice again, coming out of that perfect mouth? Could he see those green eyes again, looking at him under the thick lashes surrounding them? Could he see that smile again, so carefree and childlike, gracing those sweet, rosy lips?

With a soft curse Linde shook himself out of these taunting thoughts, wanting so much to pretend he was not in the hospital waiting for his friend to wake up, but knowing he was weak against the torrent of the reality.

He opened his eyes only to find a young, blonde nurse standing right in front of him, a look of sympathy on her pretty face.

"Mr. Lindström?" her voice was soft and a little too high-pitched for her age; it reminded him of his little girl's voice, Olivia. Oh, God how much he missed her.

"Yes?" he said tentatively, eyeing the black plastic bag in her hand.

"These are Mr. Valo's stuff, you know, his clothes, his watch, his cell phone. Thought you may want to keep it."

Linde gave her a tight smile in gratitude and with shaky hands, took the bag from her. "Thank you."

The nurse smiled back. "Oh, by the way, his phone has been ringing nonstop. We didn't want to disturb you while you were visiting your friend. And of course, we didn't answer it either."

Linde nodded and brought the cell phone out of the bag. On the screen, it read 14 missed calls. Linde pushed the button to read the name of the callers and was not at all surprised to find that 12 of them were from Bam and 2 were from Seppo.

"Err…" the nurse began and Linde looked up from the cell phone. "We want you to know that we are deeply sorry for what has happened to Mr. Valo and that we all pray for him to regain his health. And of course, we do our best to keep the media away. With any luck, the news of Mr. Valo's condition won't leak to the media."

"We really appreciate that, thank you. I know for sure that Ville will be grateful as well."

The nurse nodded with a smile and left. Linde didn't have the heart to look at Ville's stuff. He was about to toss the cell phone into the bag that it started ringing. With a sigh he looked at the caller's ID and answered.

"Bam."

"Oh, thank God, Linde. I was going out of my fucking mind. Why the hell wouldn't you pick up?...err, where the hell is Ville?"

Linde swallowed, already knowing Bam wasn't going to take the news so well.

"Uh, Bam…he's…he can't…"

"What?" Bam cut him off impatiently.

"We're in the hospital."

There was an audible gasp at the other end of the line. "Oh, God…Jesus…what…what happened? Is…is Ville alright? I want to talk to him! Where is Ville?"

Bam sounded panicked; not like his usual self. Linde wished he wasn't the one breaking the news to him.

"Bam, calm down. There was an accident…"

"Oh my God, was Ville in a car crash?" he shouted.

"Oh, no, no…no car crash…it was his asthma medication." Linde just didn't know why he didn't want to be the one telling Bam about Ville's suicide.

"What about it? How's Ville? Where the hell are you anyway? I'm coming now."

Linde could hear shuffling sounds at the other end of the line, as if Bam was running around while speaking into the receiver. He gave him the name of the hospital they were in, still not sure why he had a bad feeling about Bam being here.

"I'll be there in 20 minutes." And with that he hung up.

Linde sighed deeply and leaned his back against the wall. He didn't know how Bam was going to make it to New York from West Chester in mere 20 minutes, nor did he care. He was about to close his eyes again when he heard footsteps approaching him. It was Mige, looking oddly furious. Linde wanted to ask him what had happened in the shrink's office, but couldn't find the nerve. Instead he said softly, "Bam's on his way to here."

He didn't know why that piece of news seemed to make Mige even more furious, though.

* * *

A/N: the next chapter will take a little bit longer to be posted and I apologize for it. The fact is that the New Year is coming in our country (only two more weeks, yes!) and we have this traditional spring-cleaning to do. So the house is in chaos and there is lots of cleaning to do, so unfortunately I won't be able to write very much. But if you give me some nice reviews, perhaps I'll be able to finish the next chapter before the New Year.

Scarce-Sacred.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: nope, not mine, never happened. I just pray to God Ville and Bam will never ever decide to read a fanfiction about themselves. They'll be totally freaked-out ;-)

Warnings: small references of sexual content. (couldn't resist)

A/N: hmm, sorry it took some time. I had to rewrite this chapter, since it wasn't angsty enough and I wanted some tension. Not sure if I have pulled it off. (and I hope this going to and fro in time is not confusing)

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Chapter 8: It's Always about You

If there was one thing Bam Margera could not tolerate, it was being held up only because he could not find what he was after. Looking around in frustration at the mess he had made out of his wardrobe, he ran his hands through his hair and pulled at the ends, not at all concerned about the pain or the hairs that came into his hands. He had only two hours to his flight and he could not find his damn iPod. He never flew anywhere without his iPod, especially when he was off to one of HIM's concerts.

"Bam? What are you doing?"

Startled at the voice, Bam turned around on his heels only to come face to face with Missy, who was standing in the doorframe, a look of confusion on her face. Bam gave her a tight smile.

"What?" he soon turned his attention back to his work, which was finding the missing iPod. "Oh, I'm packing. Isn't it obvious?" he didn't mean to be bitter to her but Missy seemed to be always the victim of his bad moods. Sometimes Bam wondered how any woman could possibly put up with him. Missy seemed to be holding out pretty well, though.

"Packing?" Missy sounded as confused as she looked. "Where are you going?"

Bam gave her a short shrug, matter-of-factly. "To New York, where else?" then he bent down to search through the mess of his clothes to see if he could find his iPod there.

Apparently, Missy didn't like his curt replies. "New York?" her voice suddenly sounded nearer. "What brought that on?"

When Bam straightened to answer, he found Missy standing right before him, looking a little forbidding in her stance.

Unconsciously, Bam took a step back, which didn't go unnoticed by those narrowed, suspicious eyes of his wife.

"Err…HIM's performing live there. I thought you knew." they had not actually talked about this before; they never need to. Bam had left home for his skate demos for more times he cared to keep track. Missy never seemed to have any objections to his sudden leaves. She seemed to understand.

But the grave expression on her face somehow gave the wrong impression that this time was different.

"HIM?" her tone was cutting. "Oh, of course I should've known. How silly of me. You wouldn't just leave your work and wife behind for anything else."

Bam couldn't understand why Missy sounded so sarcastic talking about his eagerness to see his favorite band. It wasn't his first time setting off to HIM's concerts; after his marriage to Missy, this was probably his 10th or something. And not in one of those times did Missy seem so opposing about Bam leaving home to see HIM live. She had even accompanied him on several occasions. Something was wrong. Bam had never been the observant type, but the sense of pain and accusation was so overwhelming in those brown eyes of Missy's he could have felt them even with his eyes closed.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he would occasionally call her with all those endearing terms, but after each time, he was left with a bitter taste in his mouth and a heart heavy and barely beating in his chest. There was only one person Bam could call 'baby' and really meant it, and that person, as horribly as it sounded, was not his wife.

"What's wrong?" Bam really didn't like the tone of her voice. "You ask me what's wrong? Just look around! Just look at yourself! Look at your life! It's all wrong! And you don't even know it!"

Missy's arms were flying around as she screamed with the pain that could have been nestled in her heart for so long it was now impossible to keep it all in. Bam put a hand on her trembling shoulder, in a vain attempt at calming her down, but she shrugged his hand off.

"Babe, what's the meaning of all this? What are you so angry with?"

Lose your temper only when you know why; this was Bam's policy at dealing with problems.

Missy took a deep breath to regain her composure. When she spoke, her voice was soft but quivering. She seemed at the verge of tears.

"I don't want you to go."

Bam was sure he had never sounded that confused as he said. "What? But…why?"

Missy's brown eyes were glistening; Bam had never seen her cry before. He didn't know what to do if she started crying. He was beginning to panic himself.

"I want you here with me. I need you. You're my husband. I don't like the idea of you being away."

Bam felt his own eyes sting. He always knew Missy loved him; far more than he loved her. But seeing her like this, somehow pleading with him to stay…it made him feel out of sort. He didn't like the feeling.

"But sweetheart," and he had to block the memory of the man whose 'sweethearts' never failed to be Bam's undoing, "it's only gonna be three days at most. I'll be right here with you even before you know it."

As satisfying as Bam's reasoning sounded to his own ears, Missy didn't look satisfied. If anything, she looked angrier than before.

"I just want you here, ok? I don't want you to go to New York. I don't want you to go to that damn concert. You're a married man, now. You just can't stalk off to anywhere you want at any time you damn please!"

Bam couldn't help an irritated sigh. "But that's the exact thing I've been doing for all my life! And during all these years we've been married you never seemed to object! Why don't you just tell me what the fuck is wrong with you?"

For a moment Missy looked shocked, as if she wasn't expecting that kind of language from Bam. Which could have been true, seeing as Bam had never even shouted at her, let alone used any bad language directed at her. Bam knew he had crossed the line, but regret was the last favorable thing on his list.

"What _the fuck_ is wrong with me? What _the fuck_ is wrong with you? What is so special about HIM that you'd just leave everything behind to see them live?"

For a brief moment, Bam just stood there, transfixed. He had never heard Missy shout before. She always was the cool-headed woman, the balance in his life. He was the one with the infamous temper. And she knew how to deal with his tempers. Bam, however, was clueless.

"Are you seriously asking me that?" Bam sounded as confused as he looked. "You have seen them yourself. You know what a great band they are. You know how much in love I am with their music. You even liked them, didn't you? Why are you making a fuss now?"

"You don't understand, do you?" Missy sounded exhausted. She really looked miserable.

"No, and would you please enlighten me?" Bam couldn't help his harsh tone. He was really pissed and he had to leave in 15 minutes if he didn't want to miss his flight.

"It's not about HIM, is it? It's about Ville. All about Ville fucking Valo."

Bam didn't know what to make of that. "What do you mean?"

"I don't want you around him. I don't want you hang around with him. Why don't you just…leave him be? Why do you always follow him around like a lost poppy deprived of attention? Why do you let him control your life? He's messing around with you, doesn't give a damn about you and you're just too blinded to see!"

Bam couldn't believe his eyes; couldn't fathom those cutting words were coming out of Missy's mouth. He could take this shit from his friends; crucifying Bam about his behind the closed doors relationship with the Finnish vocalist was one of Ryan's hobby. But Missy, someone he was emotionally (_and_ sexually) involved with, had no right to talk about Ville like that. She knew how much respect Bam had for the Finn; she knew no-one dared to talk discourteously about him in front of Bam, or else they would regret it for the rest of their lives. She knew about these rules better than anyone. How dared she break them all?

"Take it back." Bam even surprised himself with how venomous he just sounded.

"Why should I?" but Missy could be so stubborn sometimes. "It's only the truth anyway."

Bam clenched his fists, so uncharacteristically angry he wanted to break something...or hit someone. Missy looked a little scared as well.

"Listen now, and listen carefully." Bam somehow managed to keep his voice down. "Ville is not controlling my life. He's a respectful young man and should be treated as such. He has never mistreated you, never said an unkind thing about you. How can you talk about him like that? Say your petty insults to me; leave him the fuck alone!"

Missy was crying and for the first time Bam realized he didn't really care. It was quite a shock to him, as just some minutes ago he was panicking just by the glistening in Missy's eyes, and now he was indifferent to the silvery tears that ran fast on his wife's cheeks. Was he getting cold-hearted? Or was it just Ville, his real reason to laugh, to lose control, to lose his temper, and to find himself suddenly hating his own wife?

"You love him more than you love me."

Bam couldn't help the snort; Missy had sounded so childish, so pathetic saying that.

"Now, don't be absurd. Where the fuck did _that_ come from?"

Missy sniffled, tears still running down her cheeks.

"If you really love me then don't go." Her voice sounded so small, as if scared of the answer they both knew was not going to save the moment.

"Missy, this has nothing to do with my love for you. You're just being unreasonable. I'm just gonna be away for 3 days to see my favorite band play live, why are you making a big deal of it? As if you wouldn't go to the end of the world to see your own favorite band."

Missy now looked subdued. She somehow looked 10 years older by the sorrow casting shadows over her face. Bam was desperate. At this point, he really didn't care if Missy found out about his secret relationship with Ville. He was even tempted to shout the truth right into her face, telling her he had been in love with Ville long before he could even persuade himself that he loved _her_. But he stopped himself, not because of his wife's fragile state of mind, but because of Ville- _his_ Ville- and the promise he had made to him.

"I know Ville's in love with you."

Bam's heart skipped a beat at Missy's soft confession. How the hell did she know? Did Ville tell her? But no, he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do such a thing without Bam knowing. It was his own fucking idea, after all, to keep their relationship secret from anyone, most of all Missy. She was bluffing. Yes, that was it. She was trying to raise a reaction out of him and was a fool to forget Bam was one hell of an actor, if he wanted to.

"No, he's not and I'm going to miss my flight if I don't leave in 5 minutes. If you've seen my iPod somewhere, please do tell, if not, the hell with it, I'm leaving anyway."

Bam started to turn around, praying his sidetracking method had worked, but Missy stopped him by gripping his hand. Her wet eyes were pleading with him. Uncomfortable, Bam looked away.

"Please, Bam…just…stay away from him. I know you love me. I have faith in you. You wouldn't betray me for a man like him, I know. But please, for the sake of our love, don't let him near you. He's like a deadly poison; the way he looks, the way he talks, hell even the way he laughs…he does it all deliberately. He wants to seduce people, to use them, to make them kneel before him…but Bam, sweetheart, don't let him use you as well." Missy was now clutching his shoulder with both hands, begging and crying. Bam couldn't take it anymore.

"Promise me."

She was so close Bam could kiss her, yet so far away from his heart Bam did not find the urge. His mouth was dry and his mind out of function. He couldn't live a lie forever, but he would wait for as long as Ville had begged him to. He was never fond of lying and pretending, but would do anything for Ville; even make promises he never intended to keep…not even for the sake of his wife.

"I promise. Now, baby, let go of my shoulder. I have a flight to catch." And then he kissed her, not to seal the promise, but to end his act with the final bow. Missy kissed back, not with the same passion she used to kiss him, but with urgency, a desperation that wanted to believe, to make things look real as far as the mocking masks allowed. Bam squeezed her hand and pulled away from the bitter-tasting kiss, suddenly in a great need to rinse his mouth, to get rid of the taste of betrayal on his tongue. But the most painful part was that he did not quite know who he was betraying here; Missy or Ville? Or perhaps it was his own self…stuck in a relationship that was a mistake from the very beginning, away from the person he loved and with someone who deserved much more than this pretence of a love that was hurting the three of them all. But what else could he do rather than wait? He had made a promise to Ville, and unlike those he made to Missy, he was intending to keep it.

…

As soon as Bam realized HIM were not staying in a Hotel they had planned to book, he gave Ville a call. He forgot everything about his argument with Missy the moment he heard that deep, familiar voice through the receiver.

"Bam, you're here already?" he sounded surprised; for he wasn't expecting him so soon. But Bam could not stand another day away from his gorgeous man. Surely, neither could his Ville.

"Yup! Excited, aren't you? But why aren't _you_ here? I thought you'd said you were gonna stay in this hotel. It cost me shit booking a room, man. Not to mention it ruined my surprise." He laughed, a little irritated that his plans hadn't gone the way he wanted, but still quite happy just to be this close to the man he loved, to hear his voice and to be, finally, finally, in his arms.

"Oh, yeah…sorry for that. It was a spur of a moment decision. We'd thought it best to rent a small house instead of staying at a hotel. Not sure why, it just sounded like a good idea at the time."

Bam noticed the quivering of Ville's voice, the tentativeness, and his brows furrowed.

"Ville, is everything ok, though?"

Ville was almost too quick to answer. "Oh, yeah, of course. Why would you ask that? Everything's ok. The guys are all in perfect mood. I'm excited about the gigs. Can't wait to see you, though."

The last sentence, even though sounded like having been added as an afterthought, was the reassurance Bam was waiting to hear. Finding his grin again, Bam continued,

"Well, I can't either. Just give me the address and I'll be there in a blink of an eye."

There was a sigh at the other end of the line. "Bam, you know I can't let the other band mates see us two together."

Well, of course Bam knew. It was their first rule to keep their meetings, no matter how innocent, hidden from everyone else. If they didn't show up together in public more often, then the suspicions and the gossips about them being together would subside. Ville was already doing a great job of that, constantly stating in the interviews that their visits were far between, perhaps two or three times a year. But Bam thought this was very unfair; especially after the argument he had just gone through with his wife. He didn't say anything about that to Ville, though. He hated to upset his lover with unimportant things.

"Alright. At least let me see you somewhere else. Or perhaps you don't want to see me at all?"

Even though he sounded teasing saying that, he was also scared of the answer. Ville had always been so tentative and uncertain in their relationship Bam always feared the day Ville would want a breakup. But the sound of Ville's fantastic chuckle soothed his fears away.

"Oh, Bammie, don't be a n'idiot. Stay at where you are. You said you've booked a room?"

Bam really couldn't help the images that rushed to his mind at the thought of Ville and him together in his room. That gorgeous body, pale and smooth and lickable, naked to his eyes, lying on top of the sheets that competed with his whiteness. And that wanton look in his dark, lust-filled eyes, panting his name in his ear, arching into his worshiping touch, begging him to take his beautiful erection into his mouth, and who was Bam to resist that irresistible man?

"Bam, still there, sweetheart?"

With a barely audible gasp, Bam came back to the present, suddenly too aware of his throbbing member, and thankful for the fact that he had decided to use the room's phone to call Ville, instead of the one in the lobby.

"Yeah, I'm in the room 206. Can't…can't wait to see you Ville…to feel you. I'm already so hard for you, baby."

He heard Ville gasp, and the sound sent an electric shock right to his crutch.

"Bam, damn you." The restrains in Ville's sexy voice did wonders to his already leaking hard-on. "I'm gonna call for a taxi now. Don't touch yourself before I get there."

Bam could only pant out a 'yes' as Ville hung up. He lied down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, fighting with all his might not to slip his hand into the waistband of his pants and stroke his painful member.

The things he did for his beautiful Ville, Bam thought with a lazy smile on his face, as he waited for the reason for his breathing to come.

…

And now that he looked at the prone body of the man on the hospital bed, looking too pale and still to be alive, Bam could not believe he was looking at the same man whose mere breathing had pushed him to his orgasm the day before.

If he lost Ville on this very bed, he would never be coming back to his wife alive. Bam was sure of that.

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	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: I'm terribly sorry for the long wait. My only excuse is that I was feeling a little down and couldn't find the motivation to sit down and write something. Please keep the reviews coming and raise my spirit! I need it so bad…the spirit I mean._

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Chapter 9: Selfish and Lonely

Days turned into weeks, sometimes fast and invisible, sometimes slow and dragging, and weeks turned into months and no force could stop the course of time or change it for a far better way. Today, it would be two months and fifteen days since Ville had slipped into a coma and he had yet to wake up. On the eighth day, his fingers had twitched and on the tenth he had opened his eyes, those brilliant green eyes Mige missed so much, but closed them so quick Mige was not sure if they had ever been opened in the first place. But ever since, he had been as still as a cosmetic would be; he was still on a respirator, and his shallow, monotonous breathing was too forced to be reliable. Day and night, Mige would stare at the EEG machine, any second expecting the falling and raising line to drop to a straight one. He would stare at Ville's chest, dreading the time when it would stop raising after each fall and he would hold his hand, tight and painful, and forget for a moment that the too cold hand did not belong to a dead body.

He would go insane over every silent moment he spend in the hospital room, with sleep-deprived eyes and losing, fading faith, and get drunk on every single tear he cried, feeling as sacred as a lost child in the rushing crowed of people he did not recognize the faces. He would lose his temper every time Burton tried to get him away from Ville, from the taunting moments, from the cruelty of the fate, from the shattered pieces of his heart lying around Ville's bed like the thousands of petals of a once beautiful rose engulfing the sleepy beauty that he was, and would die in every ticking second that passed without that brilliant, peaceful smile, that shining crimson paradise resting upon those moist, glossed lips.

The first week was a vague blender of denial, disbelief and numbness. He didn't have any solid grasp on the reality, couldn't believe what his eyes saw on the hospital bed, couldn't comprehend the reason of Ville's suicide.

The week two was a desperate time of hope and unregistered, sudden faith in God; silent prayers, unseen eyes and thumbing hearts. Mige wouldn't get up from the chair at Ville's bed for a second, taking his icy hand, savoring the faint beating of his pulse, begging him to wake up.

On the third week, Ville's room was filled with his personal things despite Mige's protests. The silly toys he had received for his last birthday, his guitars, his cigarette packs-some full, some half full-photo frames with smiling faces that didn't look as familiar as they should have, and lots of Heartagram symbols adorning the whitewash walls. Mige didn't want to accept this haunting room as Ville's bedroom, but he knew he was only fighting a lost battle. This _was_ Ville's bedroom; this was his home...at least for now. Mige thought he would lose his eyes for the amount of tears he had cried over that thought alone.

The week four was much the same as the week three; and all the days after that passed in the same way. But now that Mige had started to come to his senses and accept the bitter reality that lay prone before his eyes, he was aware of the hurting presence of someone he could not stand the sight of.

Bam.

Bam fucking Margera.

He was here with Ville the whole first week, acting even more like a lunatic he always portrayed himself as; he'd talk to Ville about weird things; things that didn't quite make sense even to Mige's ears. He'd talk about the first time he listened to HIM and the next he was talking about skateboards and toilet papers. He'd talk about his love for Ville, and in a loud tone no less, not caring that Mige was in the same room, breaking over every passionate memory he recalled from his imagination.

He was gone on the day 9. His wife had been calling him constantly, probably demanding him to come back, and on the day 9 he finally gave in. but before he left, and Mige could still remember every little detail of it, he kissed Ville on the lips. It was a sign of tenderness; something Mige was not expecting from Bam. And the familiarity with which he touched those dry, colorless lips, like he had done this thousand times when Ville was asleep next to him, made Mige feel like a complete stranger in the room.

And he wondered perhaps those things he talked about to Ville were not just made-up fantasies he so badly wanted to come true. Perhaps they _were_ true. Perhaps they were together…and in love with each other.

Had Ville really kissed Bam open-mouthed in his bedroom, just before Missy walked in on them? Had they really had sex on Bam's billiard table? Had they really shared 'I-love-you's when they snuggled close to each other in random hotel rooms after sex?

On the day 11, when Bam came back, Mige got his answer.

Yes, they were all true. They had all happened. Bam was not fantasizing about anything. He had loving moments with Ville; moments Mige was always thirsty for. He knew how Ville's mouth tasted; he knew the texture of his lips by heart. And he had seen Ville's face after his orgasm; had seen the real beauty shining upon that pale, angelic face. He had kissed the I-love-you's right out of that gorgeous, gasping mouth.

And he had no right.

No right at all.

Nobody could understand why Mige lashed out at Bam and punched him in the face. Nobody could see the reason behind Mige's suffering, could not feel the pain. Burton thought he had finally gone mad, as was expected, and Lily thought the same, perhaps in a little more subtle way than Burton's, and Gas…he just shrugged his shoulders in a helpless manner and went to get himself a drink.

Not even Bam himself knew why he was suddenly punched in the face. To him, Mige perhaps looked even more insane than he did to his friends. He was so shocked that he didn't fight back, and simply let Mige take all his anger and frustration on him. He felt the pain, but didn't know what had caused it. He saw the agony of a broken heart in the droplets of blood on his fingers as he wiped his nose with them, but didn't know the reason, couldn't solve the puzzle. All the pieces were missing. They were holding too much information from each other; so many things they didn't want to find out about. So many things they didn't want the other to find out about.

Even with all the missing pieces, they both knew how the final picture was going to look like.

Ugly.

And neither of the two was brave enough yet to face it.

…

He was sitting there, right in front of him, right next to Ville, running his unworthy hand through the dull locks of Ville's hair as his eyes absentmindedly wandered around the too familiar room. Oh how badly Mige wanted to be the one with his fingers in Ville's hair. But it wasn't just the gesture he was jealous of. He knew he could touch Ville if he wanted to and who was Bam to deny him such a right? It was the meaning behind the simple gesture, the history, the memories, the love. Mige could touch Ville's hair for all he wanted but would it feel the same just like how it did to Bam? Would it mean the same? Would it _be_ the same?

But what came out of his mouth was, 'why did you turn him down the first time?"

He was unconsciously searching for the missing parts, and was too exhausted to care. Bam didn't stop running his hand through Ville's hair, but he turned his weary blue eyes to him, looking even more exhausted than Mige was feeling.

"I didn't." his voice was raspy. He had cried too much. "I didn't know."

And in spite of himself, Mige believed him; not because they had nothing else to lose now that they both were losing the most precious thing in their lives, but because his eyes, those blue eyes, were so exposed and vulnerable. So unguarded. Mige could do nothing but to believe him.

"And he thought you knew. Ville had never been this obvious about anything as he was about his love for you."

Mige was surprised that his voice had not failed him when he talked about Ville's love for Bam. He simply was too numb for such reactions.

"I was such a blind, stupid dick. I thought my feelings for Ville was brotherly. I cared for him so much I was confusing myself. And when I started to panic about the fact that perhaps my feelings for him were not as innocent as I previously thought, I got married."

Mige frowned at how cliché Bam's story sounded. But what else could he expect? It was all about the same thing, this tragic story of unacknowledged loves.

"You married to escape your real feelings?"

Bam gave him a bitter smile. He didn't look like an immature, big child anymore. He looked old and faithless. He didn't look like the Bam Mige knew. And it somehow scared him.

"I married to escape myself."

It made sense, in a very twisted way. It wasn't the feelings Bam was scared of having; it was himself having such feelings. For someone who had always considered himself straight, suddenly realizing he was very much in love with another guy was a hard blow to take. Mige didn't have the same problem. Growing up with someone like Ville, so desirable and so very much a guy, had somehow prepared him for a day when he would finally find himself in love with a man.

"Then why did you come back?"

This was the part he still couldn't completely understand, couldn't cope with. If he had stayed with Missy like a royal husband should have, then perhaps…perhaps Mige still had a chance with Ville?

But then again, perhaps not.

"I missed him. I missed him so much. Missy was taking a lot of my time to herself and I wasn't able to see Ville often. And then I knew it wasn't just seeing him I craved. I longed for his hugs, for his scent, for his chaste kisses. I wanted him and I couldn't keep up the pretence for any longer. So one day I just told him how I felt. I wasn't even drunk. I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was how beautiful he looked, but he's always looked beautiful."

Bam trailed off and looked down at Ville's emotionless face, and smiled the saddest smile Mige had ever seen on any lips. Had Ville even thought twice before taking his life? Had he thought about the people that loved him even more than they loved their own selves? Had he thought about the agony he was leaving them with, the heartaches, the memories?

How selfish he was. God how selfish he was.

"She doesn't know, does she?"

Mige's sudden question brought Bam back down to earth. He took his eyes off Ville and looked guiltily at everything but Mige. Mige didn't need an answer.

"No, no she doesn't." but he gave him one and with a voice sounding small and a mere whisper. It was obvious he was even more uncomfortable with talking about his wife than he was about Ville.

"But you can't keep doing this to her, Bam. You can't keep cheating on her like that. Surely Ville didn't like the idea either."

Mige didn't want to give Bam advice about his marital life. He was no expert but any fool knew cheating was immoral. And how Ville felt about all this? He was such a kind-hearted young man and seemed to love Missy. How could Ville continue seeing Bam behind his wife's back? It was not what the Ville he knew would do. It was not like him at all.

But the answer he got left him speechless and made him realize just how far away he had been from Ville when he thought he was the closest.

It hurt suddenly realizing the man you thought you knew even more than you knew yourself had turned into a complete stranger right before your eyes without you knowing.

No wonder Mige could not still understand the reason of Ville's suicide. How could he, when he didn't know the man at all?

But what hurt even more was that neither did Bam.

The man who was supposed to be intimately involved with Ville didn't know him as much as a lover should.

God how lonely Ville was.

How Selfish and lonely.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: nope…still not mine, never happened. Were you really expecting something else?

A/N: the lyrics are not mine; I have only translated them from Persian into English. It's not a beautiful, smooth translation at all but the song surprisingly fits the theme of this chapter. You can find the original lyrics in my profile.

A/N 2: my special thanks to my dear Soot, who if it wasn't for her review, this chapter wouldn't have been written.

**Chapter 10: The Lump of Love**

_Tired of this old lump of love_

_It's hard to bear it in my voice_

_It's good that I'm content with your memories_

_I can let go of my grievances_

_It's hard for me to believe but I_

_Will go and won't ask anything of you_

_But know that wherever I go, after you_

_The lump of love will be the only thing remained of you_

_My lump won't break in my voice_

_God I want to cry a sea of tears_

_He didn't realize, the one who should have known_

_That more than life he's dearer to me still_

_Nothing is over with my leave_

_The lover won't fall out of love_

_Tell me if you've never been in love_

_Your lover won't be mad at you_

_The lump of love is still in my voice_

_I still don't ask anything of you_

_I loved you and from being in love _

_Your grief is the only thing I got_

_But I'm still in love with you_

_Didn't have a moment without pain_

_Even if it's been a long time since my leave_

_I'm still soaked in your love_

_Nothing is over with my leave_

_The lover won't fall out of love_

_Tell me if you've never been in love_

_Your lover won't be mad at you_

The world was white; a blinding white that hurt his eyes and made his head swim. He felt like he was floating back and forth in an invisible torrent of flood, as every single cell in his body was pulling him in thousand different directions all at once. He couldn't find his feet. He felt sick. And he wanted it to stop; this spinning of the world around him, like it was trying to consume him; like it wanted him to become a permanent part of all the life he had once left behind.

But he didn't want it back, this colorless painting of his life, smudged with crimson blood at the corners.

But he couldn't fight it off.

There was an invisible force pulling him forward, but he didn't want to move.

And the whiteness kept spinning around…

_The coldness seeped through the open windows and brushed past the left side of his cheek where he was facing them, and made him shiver. He wished he had taken warmer clothes with him, but he had no idea it was going to be such a cold summer. He couldn't ask the dark haired woman sitting in front of him to close the windows either. From the look of it, he was the only occupant in the room feeling cold._

_He was always cold when he was in the company of that woman. She was the slap of a winter wind right to his face. She was the promise of a destructive storm about to turn his world into a pile of powder. She was the icy cold water pouring down mercilessly on his naked figure, soaking him, drowning him, killing him…and then spitting on his dead body._

_She was Bam Margera's wife._

And around_…_

"_Ville, what is it?"_

_What it was, he asked. As if he didn't know. But he did. How could he not? Didn't he always say he wore his heart on his sleeve? That he couldn't hide his feelings no matter what? Those shinning, expressive green eyes of his- he would always say- did not the ability to mislead. How could he claim that he didn't know what was with him, when he was the one that was causing him to be the way he was?_

_Bam was getting crueler to him, and Ville didn't know what he had done wrong to deserve it._

And around...

"_Bam is such a sweetheart…"_

_Sweetheart. How many times had __**he**__ called Bam sweetheart? And how many times had that handsome, youthful face lit up at hearing that?_

_Thousand times._

"_He likes to pretend otherwise but he's a romantic at heart…"_

_Romantic. Bam called him romantic. That time when he had lit scented candles on the table as the two of them were having dinner after a tiresome day, he had called him a romantic and laughed at him. But after the dinner, he had kissed Ville's flushed cheek, whispering into his ear that he loved his romantic side. That it brought out his own romantic side as well whenever Ville showed his own._

_Ville loved Bam's romantic side, too._

"_Last night he bought me a giant bouquet of red roses. It almost came to my waist!"_

_Red roses. He had asked him what kind of flowers he liked the most. Ville had told him red roses, a wide grin spreading across his face. Bam had wriggled his brows cutely at that, saying red roses was such a girly kind of flower to like. Ville had flushed. Bam could make him feel embarrassed almost as easily as he made him hot and aroused. Bam had said he liked snapdragons._

_Ville couldn't help giggling._

"_Bam can make any girls happy. He can be such a gentleman at times it surprises you. He never forgets to open the car door for me or pull out a chair for me in a restaurant. He spoils me." _

_Spoiled. Bam had once called him spoiled. When Bam had flirted with one of the girls in the bar, and kissed her full on the lips right in front of Ville's wide eyes, Ville had excused himself and run off. When Bam had come to find him on the roof of the bar, shivering and miserable with tracks of tears on his face, he had called him spoiled. He acted as if he didn't know what had upset him so much. Later, when he had made him some coffee and brushed his hair out of his eyes, Ville forgave him._

_How could he be upset with someone he loved more than he loved his own self? Especially when that certain someone smiled at him like he was in love with him, too._

And around…

_Ville shivered uncontrollably as the rain slapped him in the face. His clothes were soaked, hair plastered down, teeth clattering. He hated the cold. He hated the rain. He hated to be still in love with someone who didn't give a damn._

_Bam always remembered to offer Ville his own coat when he shivered like mad. He had forgotten this time._

"_I can't believe it, man. I mean, wow, she's such a beautiful, sweet woman. What the fuck does she see in me?"_

_There was a time Ville was in love with Bam's smiles. It felt like ages now._

"_Yeah, she's nice. But…" the words got stuck in his throat. Bam wasn't looking at him. He wasn't even aware of his presence._

_He wouldn't shut up about Missy._

_He looked helplessly in love. It made Ville want to die._

_It made him want to kill; Missy or Bam, he couldn't decide. Perhaps both._

_But he knew he wouldn't do it. He couldn't._

_Too kind-hearted for his own good, Bam always told him._

And around…

"_You love him, don't you?"_

_He should have been horrified or shocked in the least, but he wasn't. He just looked wearily at the face of a woman he wanted to chock to death, too exhausted to lie._

"_I've loved him from the day one; much longer than you've known him."_

_She sipped her coffee, unfazed, but there was a warm understanding in her eyes that Ville knew better than trust._

"_But he doesn't love you." She couldn't have said anything crueler than that. Her eyes were still warm, though; perhaps it was the color?_

"_Yes, I know. He married __**you**__ after all." And he couldn't have said anything more pleasing to her. He hated the happiness shining in her eyes._

"_Yes, yes, he did, didn't he?" her smile made him sick. Bam said she was beautiful, but to Ville she was repulsive. He wanted to retch._

"_I know Bam isn't in love with you, but there's something about you…that is…attractive to him. I don't like the way he talks about you or looks at you. And I know you're still trying to seduce him. Don't."_

_And suddenly that warmness in her eyes caught fire._

_She was jealous._

_And he was hollowed._

And around…

"_Ville, please!"_

_She was soaked in tears, standing alone in the doorframe. The white snowflakes on her dark hair seemed to be winking at him sinisterly. It was the first time Ville saw her this much distressed. It alarmed him._

"_What's happened? Are you all right?"_

_She shook her head and all of a sudden, Ville found Missy's trembling form in his arms. She had never touched him before. Her wet cheek against his neck was uncomfortable. The movement of her lips on his exposed skin was unnerving. The feel of her breasts pressed against his chest was foreign._

_He felt odd all over._

"_It's Bam." She sobbed, still pressed to him, and Ville heard his heart drop._

"_W-what? What about Bam? Is he ok?" the panic in his voice was palpable. _

"_I think he doesn't love me anymore."_

_Ville closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a sigh of relief. Bam was all right. It was all that mattered. He suddenly realized Missy was still too close to him for his comfort. He led her to sit on the couch. She seemed reluctant to leave his arms. It was…disturbing._

"_Why would you say that?" Ville wasn't alarmed anymore. Missy had a tendency to overreact whenever Bam and his loyalty to her were concerned. _

"_I found…found this in his pocket." She hiccupped as she pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and held it in font of him. Her eyes were full of tears and an expression Ville didn't feel like interpreting. He took the paper from her and upon reading the first line, his heart froze._

_It was something he had written for Bam the night of his wedding, depressed and completely wasted, all alone in his room._

_But he had never given it to him._

_How did he…?_

"_It's yours, isn't it?" if it wasn't for the tears, she would have looked accusing._

"_Missy, listen…"_

_But she didn't._

"_It's yours, isn't it? Isn't it?" she shouted in his face. She snatched the paper from his numb fingers and shook it in front of his eyes._

"_It's your handwriting! I know it is! How dared you? After all we've been through… how fucking dared you?!?" her voice was trembling. Her whole body was. Ville was too cold to react._

"_Dear Bam, I think I'm broken…" she was reading the paper, in her trembling voice._

_Ville just sat there, motionless, as he tried so hard to hold back his own tears._

"…_broken beyond repair. I feel numb. My frozen heart is clattering inside. I feel crushed under the feet of fate. I wanted to wish you a happy life. I wanted to be there in your wedding, be the best man you have asked me to be. But I couldn't. You called and asked me why. You were so angry with me. I told you I couldn't book a flight in time. I lied. I wasn't in Finland. I was in a bar in West Chester, drinking myself senseless. I was trying to drown myself in my misery. I was trying to either die or forget. I never told you how much I loved you. But you did. Then why was it that it was you who married somebody else and it was me burning in love with you? Why did you do that, sweetheart? Why did you have to go and break my heart? Why couldn't you love me enough? Why? Oh, but I know. Love's the funeral of hearts and an ode for cruelty. Funny how I knew this all along and yet, I let myself fall. I thought you would jump after me. But you went to save somebody else. Didn't you always say you'd save me if I ever needed to be saved? Didn't I always say I was walking on the edge of the cliff-wingless- and you said you'd be the wings for me? Why did you lie, Bam? Why did you stay if you wanted to leave so soon, and without me? Why didn't you become the wings for me? Did you even see my fall? I was in love with you, and you closed your eyes on me. I wanted you and you shut me out. You killed me and I don't know how a dead heart can still love. Bam, but I still love you. I love you so much. I want you back. I want you here with me, in my arms, in my heart and soul. I'm cold and broken. I'm shattered into pieces. I'm a mess. Darling, won't you come to fix me? Won't you be in love with me tonight? Oh, my Bammie, my unfaithful Bammie, what a cruel beauty you are. And how much still in love I am with your beauty."_

And around…

"_How did you find it?"_

_He wanted to shout but his voice failed him. He wanted to scream and pull at his hair. He wanted to hurt the person that kept hurting him so. But he couldn't do it. Bam was still too close to his heart. Hurting him felt like a crime. And Ville was too damn angelic for that._

"_Ville, listen! Let me explain, alright?" Bam was pleading with him. He knew the power he had over every bit of his life and was too cruel not to take advantage of it._

"_Just tell me why, Bam. Tell me why." He rasped. He wasn't sick, but he felt feverish. His voice wasn't the only thing he was losing. It was his whole life._

"_I…I found it in that notebook with the black volume. I wasn't intending to find it, I swear! I just knocked my knee on the table, the book dropped and the paper fall out. I wasn't going to read it either but it had my name on it. I thought…I thought you were going to give it to me some day, so I just…"_

_Ville's head was throbbing in pain. Why did these things keep happening to him? What was his mortal sin? What was he burning in this hell of love and hate for?_

_Why was Bam so damn cruel?_

And around…

"_Ville, I think…I think I'm in love with you."_

_He was expecting to shock him with his news, but Ville wasn't shocked at hearing it. He knew. He always knew. It was Bam who hadn't been aware._

"_But it's too late, Bammie." He couldn't meet those beautiful blue eyes. He was worn out._

"_W-what? What do you mean? Don't you love me anymore?"_

_God he could do it. He could say no and make Bam suffer. He deserved it. God knew he deserved it. But how could he hurt him? How could he hurt __**anyone**__? He couldn't. He simply couldn't._

_Sometimes he wondered if his innocence was his sin. Perhaps it was, if he was going to be hurt more and more because of it._

And around…

"_Promise me!"_

"_Missy, what are you asking me? Do you even know what you're doing to me?"_

_He wasn't crying. No he wasn't crying. God damn it, he was not crying. Not before those eyes. Never before those eyes._

"_Ville, please, I beg you! Promise me. Just fucking promise me you won't take him away from me!"_

_And he promised._

_He promised to stop loving her husband. He promised to stop seeing him. He promised to cut himself off Bam Margera's life forever._

_He promised to be dead. _

And Ville's green eyes snapped open, to a world of faint colors and floating voices.

A world that never failed to hurt him beyond healing.

A world he had tried to run away from…but failed.

He just didn't know why he came alive when he wanted to be dead so bad.

Failure was bitter.

Failure was pain.

…Failure was him.


	11. Chapter 11

a/n: I apologize for the lateness of this chapter; I've been way too happy these last few days and I couldn't find it in me to sit down and write angst. I'm currently writing a HIM parody in Persian, which suits my mood perfectly, but I'll promise to come back to this as soon as I get down. Thank you.

a/n2: again the words in italics are in Finnish ;)

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Chapter 11: Time to Breakdown

"_Ville, damnit, open the fucking door! You can't lock yourself in there forever!"_

Mige only heard a muffled '_fuck off'_ and then some more sobbing. Two weeks had passed since they took Ville back home and ever since, Ville had been a crying mess. He hadn't said a word; well, not anything that would make sense to anyone but him. He just shouted at anyone who dared look in his way and threw things at whomever brave enough to start a conversation with him. Mige had a broken nose on the first day from where Ville had thrown his steel mug at him. He wasn't particularly shocked at the act itself, even though violence was something that had never gone with the name 'Ville' in the same sentence. He just couldn't comprehend the expression on that beautiful, pale face when Ville looked at the blood dripping down Mige's nose. It looked so much like satisfaction; like a sinister glint in a murderer's eyes after pulling the trigger and watching the dead body hit the ground.

Mige didn't want to admit it, but Ville was not the same person he knew.

He had become cruel. And it scared him.

"_Mige! Bam's here."_

Burton shouted from the stairway, long hair tangled and dark circles under his eyes. Mige was not the only one taking Ville's shit; everyone else was.

"_Can't you just…tell him to fuck off?" _Mige pleaded with him, exhaustion weighing down at him. For reasons still unknown to everyone but apparently Ville himself, Bam was always the trigger to send Ville into a crazy mode. Just the sight of him made Ville extremely violent and unstable. Bam had his own share of broken bones as well. Whenever he opened his mouth to say something, Ville would look at him as if he was going to beat him into silence. And he always did. It was a scary sight.

"_Like he'd listen."_ Burton shrugged, tiredness darkening his features.

Mige sighed in frustration, sent a dirty look at the locked door, cursed at Ville loud enough for him to hear, and climbed down the stairs.

Burton left him alone with Bam in the living room as he headed for the kitchen. Mige cursed at him in Finnish and collapsed in the couch opposite the blue-eyed man.

Bam looked like death.

"Don't you ever learn your lessons, Bam?" asked Mige unkindly, sinking more into the couch.

Bam threw him a dark look.

"I'm not in the mood for your sarcasm right now." He sounded like an old man. In any other situation, Mige would have laughed his ass off. He couldn't remember how to anymore.

"If you're here to know how Ville's doing…"

Linde suddenly appeared in the doorway, with his hair down. He looked paler than ever-if it was even possible- and his soft features were tinted with a grave expression.

Ville wasn't the only one who'd changed.

"Mige, where have you put Ville's guitars?"

Both Mige and Bam turned to give him an inquisitive look.

"What do you want them for?"

From how Linde was leaning against the doorframe, it seemed he couldn't handle his weight on his own.

"I don't. Ville does."

Mige noticed how pained Bam's expression grew every time he heard Ville's name. He didn't like the guy, but at times like this, he pitied him. It was one thing knowing what you were hated for and completely another when you didn't know for what goddamn reason you were suddenly attacked by someone you were in love with.

"Well, what does 'he' want them for?"

Linde looked at the verge of tears. If there was still one thing unchanged, it was the fact that Mige hated to see Linde cry.

"Mige, c'mon. You know why he wants his damn guitars. He wants to smash them into the wall, what else?"

It was all said so nonchalantly Mige couldn't find the urge to feel shocked.

Bam only let out a whimper and robbed the spot on his shoulder where he'd been crashed into the wall by Ville's shoving hands. Mige could never forget the expression on either the faces of Bam's and Ville's. While Bam looked like a man chocking on his own blood, Ville was smirking the cruelest smirk.

Something had died in Bam on that day that Mige wished he had never been a witness to.

"You're not going to give them to him, though, are you?"

A desperate expression broke on Linde's face.

"I'm the only one he asks for things."

He explained shortly but Mige knew the unspoken words. Ville was perhaps a little less cruel to Linde than he was to everybody else. If he wanted anything, like asking for his stuff, he would only ask Linde and Linde alone; and if Linde was going to deny him whatever he wanted…it meant losing the only contact they had with Ville.

And that they could not afford.

Bam suddenly sprang to his feet.

"Can I…"

"No!" Mige and Linde both shouted at the same time, causing Bam to take a step back.

"I was just going to ask…" he began in a small voice, with arms thrown up in the air, looking as scared and hopeless as a kid who had just lost his mom.

Mige felt a pang of pity at seeing that desperate, lost expression on Bam's face and regretted being so harsh to someone who was apparently taking it a lot harder than the others.

"Bam, are you a masochist or what? You know he doesn't want to see you, why do you insist then? Wanna take more beating? Hear more insults? What? Just what the hell do you want Bam?"

Upon seeing the defeated expression on Bam's face, Mige instantly regretted his words. He didn't know what was with him. He wasn't in control of himself anymore. More often he found himself saying and doing things he wouldn't normally do if he was more conscious about his behavior.

He just simply didn't give a damn anymore, and that, at times when he did, made him extremely helpless.

"I just…I just want my Ville back."

There was something about the way Bam had said those words that Mige couldn't help but realize how Bam's dream was far-reached. His Ville would never be back. And what made it worse was that they all knew it, too.

"Bam, please go home."'

It was Linde's soft voice speaking to Bam for the first time in the past two weeks. Bam looked up at him, with a defiance that wasn't there, and let his emotions wash over his face.

"I don't have a home anymore." If possible, he sounded even more miserable than before. "Missy's asked for a divorce."

So that was why he was here. Mige wasn't really surprised at the news, and neither seemed Linde. But Bam seemed to be especially upset at the new circumstances. What was he really expecting to come of his relationship with Missy anyway? They had fights on the phone all the time. Missy had also threatened to get a divorce if Bam continued staying at HIM's rented house instead of going back home to her. Mige would have been relieved at the news if he were Bam. But Bam had never been your typical man to begin with.

"What are you going to do now?" it was Linde again, asking in his soft voice. Mige wondered for a brief moment why Linde gave a damn. He had never been the curious type and he didn't particularly like Bam.

"I don't know." he gave a half-hearted shrug. "To be honest, I'm not in the mood for a divorce right now. I've asked her to wait a bit longer 'til…'til we sort things out; you know, with Ville and everything…but she's standing her ground. She wants to do it as soon as possible and I can't stand her whining anymore. Sometimes she makes me want to shoot my head off."

He gave a humorless laugh at that; one that made Mige cringe at the sound of.

"I thought that was Ville." it was Burton, with a can of beer in his hand, walking toward the couch to flop into. Bam robbed his hand fiercely against his face, frustration pouring from every cell of his being.

"Can't you lot just…fuck off? I have enough shit on my hand as it is, I don't need any more crap from you heartless bastards."

Burton, quite unattractively, snorted into his drink. "Look, Bam-Bam, I may not exactly know what was going on between you and Ville, but I'm not that stupid not to know whatever it was, it's been all somehow your fault."

Bam looked a little surprised at that; it made a huge contrast to his usual miserable, defeated expression.

"My fault?" his incredulous tone was a bit higher than usual. Mige sensed a change in the air and became a little alarmed. "How's Ville acting like a jerk my fault?"

Bam was now standing right before a seated Burton, looking a little intimidating in his pose. But Mige knew Burton was far from being intimidated, and by Bam no less. He sneered cruelly at a seething Bam, placing his now empty can on arm of the couch as he got to his feet, towering over the American.

"You can't seriously be that ignorant, can you?" asked Burton in his cold voice, arms crossed against his broad chest.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Snapped Bam, irritated and seemingly not in any mood for mind games and solving silly puzzles.

Burton opened his mouth for another biting comeback, but was cut off by a deep voice coming from the stairway.

"_Linde, I asked you for my fucking guitars! Where the fuck you've gone?"_

The first thing that came to Mige's panicked mind was to get Bam away from those seething green eyes as soon as possible. The second thought was that it was too late.

"_Bam?'_ that sinister smirk on those full lips never ceased to scare Mige, or Bam apparently. _"So disgusted to see you."_

Mige grimaced at the harsh words, but Bam, unaware of what Ville was saying, only looked confused.

But he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Your guitars…they're in Gas' room." Mige suddenly spoke up, trying desperately to distract those revengeful green eyes from boring holes in Bam's skull.

"Yeah, they are, aren't they?" the smirk had yet to leave his lips. "I was going to smash them into the windows but seeing as our dear Bam is here…"

He left his sentence unfinished, but the look on his face was enough to make them all feel uneasy. Bam shifted uncomfortably under that gaze, looking every bit a troublesome kid dreading his punishment. Mige didn't want to pity the guy, but he knew whatever wrong he had done to Ville in the past, he did not deserve Ville's harsh treatment now.

"Ville, please…" Linde pleaded with him, eyes welling up with tears. Mige remembered a time Ville would break over every single tear that spilled from Linde's gentle eyes.

God, what had gone so wrong?

"Please?" Ville turned to him, one brow raised in question. "Bam-Bam, tell our lovely Lily here how many times I had told you 'please' and you had ignored them every single time like I didn't matter."

Ville's cold voice sent a shiver down Mige's spine. He looked at Bam's face and noticed he was the most scared of them all; and he had every right to be.

"How many times Bam?" he almost barked, his deep voice rising to several octaves.

"Ville…" Bam began tentatively, too scared to make eye-contact.

"SHUT UP!" Ville wasn't looking at him either. He had his hands buried in his long hair, pulling fiercely at the ends, eyes tightly shut. "SHUT UP! DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE SAY MY NAME AGAIN!"

"Please! Just tell me what my fucking fault is!" Bam asked him desperately, even though he should have known better than talk to Ville in his current state.

This gained Ville's attention as those fiery green eyes rested on Bam's watery blue eyes, a wild flame burning in the depth of them as he looked right through Bam's soul.

"What your fucking fault is?" Ville started laughing hysterically, a streak of tears running down his pale cheeks. Mige was now officially scared out of his wits. "He says what his fucking fault is!" he was now looking at Burton, who was perhaps the most collected of them all.

"I fucking killed myself and you ask what your 'fucking' fault is?"

When Mige took his eyes from Ville's furious face to look at Bam's, he noticed how suddenly pale the American had turned. His lips were quivering, like he was trying to say something but couldn't find his voice. Mige tried to find the reason as to why Bam looked suddenly so shocked and upon hearing his trembling 'y-you k-killed yourself?' everything dawned on him. Bam had no clue about Ville's suicide. He still thought Ville's incident was just an accidental case of overdose when he was in the middle of an attack and too panicked to realize how many pills he was throwing into his mouth. And nobody ever bothered to tell him the truth. Why hadn't anybody filled Bam in? Mige remembered how reluctant Linde was to be the one telling Bam about Ville's suicide and when he refused to tell him, Mige just tossed the idea aside, unconsciously deciding that Bam wasn't worth the trouble anyway.

Damn, that was probably the reason why Bam was still here, trying to get 'his Ville' back home with him. He had been probably the most confused of them all, not being able to comprehend how a case of an accidental overdose would damage somebody beyond recognition. And now that he had finally found out…

Damn, this was getting worse and worse.

"You didn't know?" somehow Ville managed to sound both surprised and furious at the same time. He turned around, facing Mige. "He didn't know?" his voice cracked and Mige had a wild moment of panic that Ville was going to cry. He sounded small and exhausted, clearly at the verge of a breakdown.

Bam looked to be going to have a breakdown himself.

"Why…why nobody…nobody ever told me?" seeing Bam cry was perhaps even more of a shocking scene to Mige than seeing Ville being cruel was. He had never seen Bam cry before; not even when he heard of Ville's critical condition, not even at those sleepless nights he spend at Ville's bed, talking to him, singing to him, pleading with him to wake up.

Mige suddenly felt extremely guilty that he had been so ignorant of Bam's suffering. How could he so simply forget about Bam? He felt even crueler than Ville was.

"Why?" it wasn't Bam, asking everyone's unanswered question. It was Ville, asking Mige why he hadn't told Bam.

"We…we forgot." Mige mumbled under his breath, suddenly feeling all alone on his own, lost in a place he didn't have the map of. He cringed inwardly at the sound of Ville's snort.

"You forgot?" damn, how he wished Ville was addressing somebody else. He hated to be speechless under than seething green gaze. "What kind of a fucking answer is that?"

Mige didn't even feel brave enough to raise his head. "Fucking answer me! How could you forget telling him I had tried to take my fucking life? HOW COULD YOU?" Ville screamed in his face and Mige braced himself for a punch that never came.

Instead, he was shoved roughly to the ground. His head hit the edge of the couch pretty hard and his back collided roughly with the carpeted floor as his left ankle hit the leg of the glass table. He groaned in pain and robbed his hand over his throbbing head. He probably deserved the shove, but deep down, it still hurt seeing Ville with his back on him already, not caring a bit if he had survived the fall or not.

"I…I thought…God…you had…after…after…I told you…told you I'd love you as long as…you were alive…and you just…God, oh my God…" Bam put a hand over his mouth, tears running fast on his cheeks. Mige was still too dizzy to understand what he was talking about, but the expression on both Linde's and Burton's faces, which was pure horror, told him that something horrible had just been revealed.

"Oh my God…" Bam sobbed and started backing away, weeping eyes still glued on Ville. From where Mige was sprawled on the floor, he could not see the expression on Ville's face, but the horror and disbelief on Bam's was proof enough that it wasn't a pretty one.

Damn, what was happening?

Before Mige could find the strength to pull himself together, Bam dashed out of the house still sobbing and whimpering, and as the front door slammed shut behind him, Ville suddenly dropped down to his knees, arms hanging lifelessly along his sides as he stared dazedly at the closed door.

When the unmistakable sound of tires screeching came from the driveway, Burton slowly slid down in front of the still Ville and took his frozen body into his arms, rubbing his back gently and whispering reassuring words into his ear.

Mige looked at Linde who had collapsed on the floor, hugging his knees, and silently begged him for an answer. Linde only looked grimly at him, holding his eyes for a few seconds before dropping his head on his drawn knees and starting to cry.

And only when he heard a heart wrenching sob coming from Ville did he allow himself to break down as well.

-tbc-


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** nope…not mine, didn't happen, all that jazz.

**a/n:** I apologize for the long wait. I was waiting for a friend's reply to see if she would beta this chapter for me, but I never got her reply, and I became a little impatient, so I just decided to post it anyway. I've read it thousand times, but still it's not perfect. I just hope you don't find it too sucky.

**a/n2:** thanks for my last chapter reviewers, Soot, Lucy and Tohru80. Hope you enjoy sweethearts!

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Chapter 12: If Only I Just Had Died

The alarm clock on the nightstand seemed to be ticking right inside his skull. The air was stiff, even with the windows wide open, and he had trouble breathing through his nose. His naked body was tangled in the white sheet and the rough fabric was sticking to his sweaty skin in an unpleasant way. The heat that was coming off him was intolerable. Was he coming down with something?

He suddenly had an urge to roll over and turn the lamp on-in his feverish state, darkness scared him-but he felt faint and out of breath. It hurt swallowing and he didn't know what to do with so much saliva in his bitter-tasting mouth. He remembered crying himself to sleep, so perhaps the knot in his throat was only because of some late-night crying and not an illness. He couldn't afford getting sick on top of everything else.

He heard footsteps outside of his bedroom and upon watching the doorknob turning, he closed his eyes, feigning sleep. The footsteps were heavy, but Ville didn't have a hard time guessing who they belonged to with closed eyes. Mige was the only one beside Ville dealing with insomnia. It would be his sixth night coming silently into Ville's bedroom, sitting on the edge of his bed, running his hand through his hair and muttering a soft 'I love you' before kissing him on the forehead and tip-toeing out of the room. All the while, Ville would be faking sleep, liking the way Mige made him feel safe and loved, wanting so much to hide himself into his big embrace but not feeling brave enough to do so.

He felt Mige's weight sinking into his bed and longed for his hand to brush his loneliness away. He wasn't disappointed. Mige's hand felt cool and pleasant on his feverish skin, but just like how Ville could feel Mige's cool skin, Mige could feel his heated-up flesh.

"_Ville, Ville you're awake?"_

Ville didn't answer. It had been more than two weeks since that incident with Bam and ever since Ville had been feeling like dying. He couldn't stand himself anymore. He was drained. The place for cruelty and revenge was empty, and he was filled with nothingness. Every time he stood before a mirror he wanted nothing more than to shatter his reflection into pieces, damaging his image, breaking his face, killing his soul; if he could no longer see himself in the mirror, then perhaps he would start to believe that he no longer existed.

But he had yet to commit suicide. He didn't know if he could ever do it again. For him, if there was only one chance at choosing to live, there was only one chance at choosing to die, too. He could never muster enough nerves to take his life again. He felt trapped inside a body he didn't want anything to do with, and if there was only one person in the world regretting coming back to life, it was him.

"_Ville, wake up."_ Mige's soft voice, speaking in his native language, caressed his ears, just like how his hand was caressing his flushed cheek. _"You've got a fever."_

"I'm ok." His voice came out raspy followed by a dry cough. He knew his words meant nothing now.

Mige never stopped brushing his hand over his cheek. "It's funny how you always answer my Finnish questions in English. Does it bother you when I speak in our mother tongue?"

His voice was light-hearted and his face, in the dim light of the moon shining through the thin curtains, looked amused. Ville felt drained.

"No." his voice cracked. "I'm just not aware I'm doing it." he looked back at Mige, trying to interpret his expression. _"Does it bother __**you**__?" _

That earned him a soft smile. He didn't know why, but he always felt more secure every time Mige smiled. "No, of course not. I just like hearing you talk. Even if you start talking in aliens' language, I won't mind. Just so long as you talk."

There was an underlining sadness to Mige's voice that made Ville's eyes fill up with tears. He quickly looked away to hide his tear-stricken eyes, but Mige grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn around.

"Don't." he pleaded. "Don't turn your back on me."

Ville felt like laughing. There was a time he wanted everyone to notice how much he was hurting. He wanted them to look back, to see the pain in his eyes, to ask him what was wrong, to take him into their arms and promise him everything would be going to be ok. But nobody ever saw him. Nobody looked twice at his shattering soul. Nobody cared. And now, when he wanted nothing more than to crawl into himself and continue dying inside, they wouldn't let him. He didn't want to be the final scene of a tragedy he didn't have a part in. He didn't want to crumble in front of an audience that didn't know him beyond a name and an empty shell. He didn't want to be remembered by these people he no longer recognized. He just wanted to be gone, to dissolve right before their unseeing eyes. He didn't want a funeral, with white roses he couldn't smell thrown into his grave and mourning people with no faces all around his coffin, grieving someone's death they didn't even know. He didn't want the rain pouring down on him, crying for his pain. He didn't want a tombstone bearing his name. He didn't want to leave anything behind.

If he could just take all of his pieces with him to hell, then perhaps he could stop hurting for everything he was and was not on Earth.

"Say something." He was pleading with him. Ville hated making Mige sound so desperate and frightened.

"Like what?" he couldn't sleep, but that didn't mean he wasn't tired. He felt 1000 years old. Sometimes he felt so dead inside he was afraid of not dying when the time came; just like how tiredness dominated him so that sleep could not even tip-toe into his territory.

"Anything." His desperation was starting to scare him. "Ville, talk to me, please!"

Talk to him? Was there even anything worth talking about anymore? After what he had done to himself, it felt as though he had burnt all the bridges behind him. There was no coming back to whatever he used to be; there was nothing left of his old life anymore. What was there to talk about? Why he wanted to end his life? How he could do this to himself, forgetting about all the memories etched on the wall of his sanity, and turning his back to whatever that once made him? Or how he felt right now, now that he had been forced to come back to a life that wasn't his anymore; now that he had to stare at the blank pages of a life once filled with nightmarish chapters, pretending to have found something worth reading…living? A child could only keep on crying until someone noticed his pain; after that, what was the use of crying?

Mige should have listened to him before he took his life. Everything was pointless now.

"I don't know what to do with myself anymore." He was staring up at the dark ceiling as he spoke, unaware of Mige's eyes tearing up at the underlying meaning in his words.

Mige's hand took hold of his, and he did nothing to remove it, even though he wanted to. He felt too drained for that.

"I help you through, Ville, I promise." He almost sobbed and made Ville realize that he didn't know Mige anymore.

"_He left me for a woman. Why would he do that?"_

He wasn't aware that he was thinking aloud, and in his mother tongue too. When Mige answered him, he just looked at him, confused, trying to understand what he was talking about.

"_I would have liked to say because he was a dumbass, which he was, but I guess it had more to do with you than him."_

Mige's face was cast in the shadows, and thus was hard to read. But Ville did not have to search his face to realize he was anything but playful. His tone said enough.

"It's always me, isn't it?" his voice came out bitter, sad and broken; just like how he was feeling inside.

Mige squeezed his hand almost painfully, as if he wanted the pain to remind him that he was still there to feel.

"No, kulta, I didn't mean it that way." He brushed the hair out of Ville's face with his other hand lovingly. "Look at it this way: you are this gorgeous, wonderful, confident man who's just too good to be real for someone like Bam; Bam, on the other hand, is this clumsy, unconfident youth who can never imagine himself next to you. He knows you love him, but can't bring himself to believe it. For him, you're way out of his league and he doesn't want his heart to be crushed when you finally find out that you are. There's of course this little fact that you're a guy and Bam doesn't know how to handle this new discovery about him being in love with a man. But Missy, she brings Bam the security he needs to find in his lover. He knows she loves him and it's easy for him to believe that she does. She's someone Bam can rely on without worrying all the time if he's good enough for her. So, instead of risking his heart and letting himself fall for you, he chooses Missy to both overcome his feelings for you and to settle down with someone he can see himself falling in love with. He would have chosen you, if you weren't so out of reach."

Ville wanted to roll on his stomach and hide his face into his pillow, but Mige had a death grip on his shoulder. He still felt feverish and his chest was tight, but there were just so many feelings compressed inside that he felt like choking on them.

"You don't know that." He chocked, with a throat sore from an insistent lump about to break.

"But I do." He could feel the touch of the saddest smiles on Mige's lips but was too faint to turn his head to see it. "He talked to me."

It was then his lump broke into his voice, and he started sobbing, but no tears came. His river of tears had gone dry. He was simply too dead for that.

"But he never talked to **me**."

He couldn't understand a word Mige had told him. Nothing made sense. He tried, he really did, but the logic in those words was lost on him. Security…confidence…risk…out of reach…meaningless words that kept swimming behind his closed eyelids. Why didn't Bam ever talk to him? Why didn't he tell him that he was scared? It was stupid. If anything, it should have been Ville being scared of rejection. He had always been the one to take the first step, after all. He thought he had made it clear for Bam that he loved him and really meant it. Why didn't he ever tell him that he wasn't convinced enough? Ville couldn't understand. He couldn't fucking understand anymore.

When he opened his eyes, he saw he was clutching tightly onto Mige, sobbing and whimpering as the pain in his heart stretched toward his stomach and took a hold of his trembling body. He was hurting more than anyone should have. Why couldn't he just shut his eyes and fade into whatever that was too dead to feel? He was tired of hurting. He was tired of waking up to a day he didn't want to live through. He was just simply tired of living among these people that couldn't understand him but pretended as if they did. He was tired of everything.

His tearless sobbing was painful. Every sob felt like a sharp needle digging into his throat. And the convulsion had left his stomach hurting. Why didn't he just stop hurting?

He barely felt as Mige lowered his pained body to the bed and took his head into his large hands.

"Ville?" he called gently, but even his soft voice was painful to his sensitive ears.

"It hurts." He all but whimpered, and squeezed his eyes to ease the pain in vain.

"Where?" came Mige's worried tone. "Where does it hurt, sweetheart?"

Ville wanted to say 'everywhere', but knew that wasn't what Mige wanted to hear.

"Here…my stomach hurts." He brushed his hand against his T-shirt clothed stomach and winced.

He felt Mige's cool hands on his bare skin, and slowly started to feel more relaxed as the bass player kept massaging his hurting belly.

"Is it helping?"

Ville only nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth he would be in more pain that he already was.

Mige's hands applied more pressure on his belly and after 2 minutes or so the pain was completely gone. Ville would have thanked him if he was feeling like himself. But he couldn't remember how to feel like himself anymore.

"You never told me why you did that to yourself." He said in a very low tone, barely audible, and Ville had a feeling Mige wasn't aware that he had just voiced his thoughts out loud.

"It doesn't matter." His low voice almost matched that of Mige's.

"But it does." Then, there was a humorless laugh from Mige that sounded a little frightening to Ville's ears. "God, you didn't even leave a damn suicide note! What if you had…and we never knew…"

Now it was Ville's turn to give a dry laugh. "But you still don't."

Mige's confused face hovered before him, and for a moment Ville thought he was going to kiss him. But he didn't. It felt like ages since the last kiss they shared. Ville didn't know why but he suddenly felt a great loss over those playful, sunny kisses. He missed them. And it was odd. He thought he would never miss anything about his old life, and here he was proved wrong.

"It had something to do with Bam, didn't it? You took your life to free yourself from the relationship that was hurting you, right?"

Wrong. It was all wrong. What they knew, what they thought they knew, was only a little part of a huge picture. Sure being with Bam was painful, just how being without him was, but it wasn't the only reason that had driven Ville to such insanity and desperation. Ville knew it would have been best if he just nodded and let Mige believe it was all Bam's fault, but something deep inside him wouldn't let him do that. He couldn't keep lying anymore. Why should he lie when it wasn't going to matter either way?

"I cheated on Bam." The words were out before he could even think over them. Mige's gasp of surprise was like a sharp slap to his face.

"You did what?!"

If Mige couldn't pass the part of believing that Ville was capable of cheating, then how on earth was he going to be able to listen to the rest of it? Ville didn't think he had a choice, though.

"I cheated on him." His chest tightened again and tears he didn't know he still had blurred his vision. He tried to calm down, to forget about the memories he wanted so badly to burn along with himself, but the pain was too intense he started wheezing and choking on air. Mige was quick to grab his inhaler from the nightstand and spray it into his mouth.

When he started to finally cool down and breathe on his own, Mige took the inhaler away from him and gently brushed his clammy cheek.

"With who?" he whispered, as if afraid of the answer Ville was going to give.

Ville locked watery eyes with Mige's pained ones, wishing with all his might that he could just disappear right then and there. And knowing that he couldn't, no matter how much he prayed, was killing him inside.

"Missy." He mouthed the word. He simply had no voice left to use. Mige's hand stilled on his cheek and his eyes widened at the horrible truth.

Feeling every bit of a child who had been caught doing something wrong, Ville started crying. But Mige's arms never came to hold him and assure him that everything was fine and he didn't need to worry. Because everything was wrong, and Ville had no other choice but to face his punishment. If only he had just died…

"My God, Ville, what have you done?" his incredulous voice hurt more than a punch to the stomach. When even Mige could not recognize him anymore, who else did Ville have to turn to at the times of his highest low?

"It was…it was last Christmas…" he said between his sobs, wishing he could just die with every word that passed though his lips. "...after you all turned in for the night…she came knocking on the door…I was sitting by myself in the living room smoking and watching some crap on TV…she was distressed…she showed me the letter I had written to Bam on the night of his marriage but never gave it to him…she started screaming and accusing me…and I was feeling awful…after she calmed down, we started drinking…I hadn't been drinking for years and when I started on it I couldn't stop…we got so drunk…and I swear to God, Mizee…she took the first move! And…and we did it there on the couch…I didn't even remember what we had done the next morning…I didn't remember anything 'til…'til 3 months ago…when Missy called me and told me…she told me…"

Ville suddenly stopped as the horrible memories flashed through his mind. Blindingly, he searched for his inhaler on the nightstand, and in his panic, he knocked it to the floor. He looked pleadingly at Mige, but he was just sitting there on the bed, too stoned to react. When his panic rose and his breathing stopped, Ville all but threw himself out of the bed, kneeling on the floor and searching for his inhaler in the dark. Finally his hand brushed against the plastic object and he snatched it up and sprayed it several times. Even with his inhaler he couldn't breathe. Wait…what was he doing? Trying to breathe…trying to save himself…but he didn't want that! He didn't want to live! With that he tossed the inhaler to the floor, and buried his face into his hands. His head was hurting and his breathing was still labored. Mige's voice suddenly pierced through the sound of his wheezing.

"What did she tell you?" he asked slowly, turning his eyes to look at the broken form of the dark beauty sitting on the floor, gasping and sobbing into his hands.

Ville thought about the shadows that lurked in the corner of his sanity, slowly engulfing him in their deceitful safety; the crimson stains that he left on everything he touched; the beauty that fell into decay in his poisonous presence, and the mirrors that cracked with the blurred reflection of his all mistakes.

If he could just pretend that he didn't exist, he could have easily believed that everything was just as illusional as his wavering existence.

Ville's voice finally cracked. "That she was pregnant."

Mige covered his mouth with his hand. "Oh my God…"

Ville sobbed into his hands as he rocked himself to and fro. "You should have just left me die."

Never had anyone's silence sounded so much like a 'yes' to him as Mige's did.

If only he had just died…


	13. Chapter 13

_a/n1: ok, apologies my dear readers. This chapter has been sitting in my pc for a while and I didn't like it enough to post it. I did lots of refining but still can't say I like this chapter very much. But I thought it must be done, since I didn't want to give the impression any character in this fiction is evil or sth. They're just normal humans who tend to make a lot of mistakes, that's all. There's no villain in here, and I tried my best to make Missy's situation more clear. I'm utterly sorry if it sucks :(_

_a/n2: the poem's by my humble self._

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Chapter 13: Would It Have

**Would It Have…**

Running all the way back

To the very start

Holding on to all the memories

Holding on to my heart

As I chased after nothingness and fell apart

Right before you

Right at the start

Would it have mattered?

Would it have changed anything?

If I'd broken down and cried,

All the tears inside?

Would it have mattered?

Would it have stopped the bleeding?

If I'd fallen to my knees,

And died?

Running to the edge

And taking the fall

Only to be halted by a mere call

-In the heart of this rainless fall-

Was I being taken back to everything I left behind?

Or was it just a cycle of my fate and all?

Would it have stopped?

Would it have eased the pain?

If I'd just lost my faith

And turned around?

Would it have helped?

Would it have saved my soul?

If I'd faked my death

And fallen to the ground?

Would it have meant anything?

Would you have come back?

_He was standing in the doorframe, blocking her way, looking like a porcelain doll as moonlight danced off his smooth, pale skin and engulfed his entire form in a soft, silvery glow. He was drowned in a beauty that couldn't even be tarnished by the dark bags under his dimming eyes, or the ill-fitting, worn shirt that hung loosely on his thin frame, or the weight of all his sorrows and mistakes upon his slender shoulders. He was painfully beautiful standing there, looking down at her as pain radiated from his dull, gray eyes. The pain was almost physical, as it wasn't just his tall figure in the doorway that pushed her away, but the broken pieces of a love once so colorful in the depth of his colorless gaze. _

Her pale hand was madly trembling on the doorbell, as she stood there in the cold and snow, unable to remember what she was doing there. Outside, she was attacked by the harsh slaps of the December wind and snowflakes, inside, she was slowly being destroyed by the absolute darkness of her thoughts. Should she go in? Should she go back? She didn't know. And this state of not knowing was eating at her soul, leaving her bare and unprotected in a war against everything she once thought as safe. If her hand froze on the doorbell, and her heart died on the sidewalk tonight, it would be just as painful if she pressed the white, tiny doorbell and laid her heart bare on a stranger's bed, ready to be butchered and torn apart. She knew it was a choice between bad and worse, but she didn't know which was the bad and which was the worse. If there was any other option, she would have gratefully taken it. If she could pick up her heart and run away with it, if she could turn her back to all those monsters and pretend that they weren't right behind her, about to catch up, if she could go to the top of the tallest mountain and scream her heart out and then take the fall, perhaps then she could draw a sigh of relief. She was hurting, and was tired of it all.

But what had brought her here, tonight?

She thought about all the things that took her back to Bam every time she thought the link between them was breaking. Bam was a handsome, charming man with a great sense of humor and a carefree persona. He was rich and famous; a jackass to everyone outside his private life but a romantic to his beloved. He was thoughtless and impulsive, like a mischievous child, and easy to manipulate with a little smile or a touch of a frown.

But were they the reasons that linked Missy's life so strongly to Bam's? No. The reason was something else, something bigger, deeper, stronger. It wasn't his personality, or his appearance or his money. It was the memories. It was the past they had together. She couldn't let go of everything that had made her the way she was. She couldn't stop believing, couldn't lose her faith. If she allowed herself to forget about the memories, nothing would remain of her but an empty shell. And she couldn't do that to herself. Bam was all she had; all she had ever had. When she was a child, Bam was her only friend. And as they grew up, the more they spent time together, the more Missy found herself depended on him. No, she couldn't lose her memories. No, she couldn't lose her Bam.

But why was she still here?

_She was crying; not over a man she knew she'd lost forever; not over a heart that would never mend; not over a promise that was never kept and the infidelity of a hope she shouldn't have hung onto in the first place. She was crying because he was beautiful._

She remembered the first time she looked into Ville's jade eyes and found love in them. Two months after the wedding, Ville had come knocking on their door in the middle of the night. He hadn't told them that he was coming to Westchester. He was soaked in the rain, dripping water on the marble floor. He was trembling and pale, eyes haunted and cheeks sunken, his clothes sticking to his sickly thin body. He looked ill and faint. He looked so empty. Yet, there was still something powerful about him. Even in his slouched stance, there was something there that was holding all his broken pieces in one place. When Missy heard Bam's greetings coming from behind her, she knew it was Bam. Bam was that powerful something inside Ville keeping him on his feet. Bam was the reason Ville was still standing, still breathing and Missy…she was the reason why he looked so ill and about to fall apart. She knew right away what was wrong with the Finnish singer. He was in love. He was in love with a married man who didn't even know that his best friend was in love with him. But Missy knew. She recognized the look on Ville's face. She knew all the signs. The way he zoned out in the middle of a conversation; the way he spent hours just staring at Bam's face while he wasn't even looking back at him; the way he always looked at the verge of a breakdown every time Bam pulled Missy close for a kiss in front of him; or the way he padded to their bedroom on bare feet in the dead of night, just standing in the doorway, invading their privacy, asking a groggy Bam stupid, little things. 'Bam, do you know that actress in that movie…I do know her name, but can't remember it right now.' 'Bam, I can't find my black pen. Mind if I…you know, I guess I've left it somewhere around here.' 'Bammie, I can't go to sleep. Can I…can I watch TV? Wouldn't the sound bother you?'

_He was beautiful and she couldn't remember what she was doing there. His beauty dominated her reasoning, violated her composure, and infiltrated her sensual zone. She was crying because she felt so weak, so defeated in a game she had yet to begin. She was crying because he had defeated her even without trying. He was everything she wasn't; everything that Bam was in love with. And when he took her in his arms- or was it her throwing herself at him?- she was defeated once more. How could she hurt a man so beautiful and sweet, regardless of the fact that he was hurting her just with his mere presence?_

It wasn't that Missy was too sharp about all the signs; No, Ville was just too damn obvious. He was screaming his love to Bam, and Bam was just too deaf to hear. But Missy knew Bam wouldn't stay deaf forever. Sooner or later, Ville would win his little love game, and Missy would lose Bam to him. He was a threat, with his pretty green eyes, with his seductive smiles, with the grace he moved around, with the lilt of his voice that took Bam's breath away every time he called him 'Bammie', and Missy found herself too weak of an opponent to fight back.

She didn't really want to, but she hated Ville. He was seducing her husband right under her nose, no matter how unintentionally, and she felt helpless. Bam started spending more time with Ville than he did with Missy, and the times he was with Missy, he wouldn't shut up about Ville. There was only one way to take back her control and that was confronting Ville. And confronting him she did. She told him to stop seducing her husband. And when that didn't work, she begged him to. And in the end, in her desperation and utter hopelessness, she threw him out of her house. Missy knew it wasn't fair. Ville was not really doing anything. It was Bam. He was the one getting away from her outstretched hands day after day. He was the unfaithful one. But what else could she do? Telling Bam that she knew was equal to losing him forever. No, she couldn't tell Bam anything or he would have been just too happy to end his colorful pretence and run away with his beautiful Finn at sunset.

_She was bitter. She was defeated. She wanted her revenge. She had spent months trying to come up with a perfect plan. And now that everything seemed to be in the palm of her hand, she suddenly realized she didn't want any of it anymore. All the cutting words that left her mouth, all the accusation and screams, they all left a bitter taste behind. She couldn't carry on with the act; words that just some minutes ago were the last remaining rope she was hanging onto for dear life, sounded false and meaningless. Her pain suddenly paled next to his, and she wanted nothing more than to pick herself up and run away…and never look back at the beauty that was falling apart._

The first time Bam slept with Ville, she knew. Even though Bam was doing his hardest to hide his dirty, little secret, Missy had become too paranoid not to notice it. It wasn't the fact that Bam had looked happier than the past few months-bouncing around and acting more like that infamous mischievous child than a sulking old man- or that that familiar afterglow had been shining in his blue eyes nonstop. It wasn't the fact that he had been humming HIM songs all through the day, or wearing his HIM T-shirts even when going to bed. It wasn't even the fact that he had refused to sleep with her the night after, making up excuses and sweet-talking his way out. No…these were not the reason, even though they were convincing enough. Missy had caught him on the phone talking to the Finn, and she had heard _everything_.

But what had she done next?

Going up to Bam, snatching the receiver from him, yelling swear words into it, slamming it on the phone and slapping her unfaithful husband across the face? No.

Standing hidden in her spot, crying silent tears and feeling sorry for herself, watching her heart break and kneeling on the floor to pick up the broken pieces? No.

No. She hadn't confronted Bam, neither had she allowed herself to break down. She'd planned. She'd spent days and days to come up with a revenge plan. And it was only due to this plan that she didn't break. She watched her cheating husband closely and would know every time he had slept with Ville. It should have been her breaking point when the number of the nights Bam had spent with Ville became more than the nights he had slept with her, but this idea inside her head-this sweet, poisonous plan- was keeping her upright. She had a revenge to take, and until then, she had to keep on fighting for all she was worth. She might have not been as strong in this little game of attraction and lust as her Finnish rival, but she was stubborn and still had her dreams safely locked within her soul.

Now determined, as she finally remembered what had brought her here- to Ville-, she rang the doorbell twice. It took some freezing minutes for the door to be opened, and when it did she was starting to get cold feet. One look at the face before her, and she knew she couldn't do it; not to the man that face belonged to. Those eyes held no sin. They were as clear as those of a new-born baby, getting their very first look at the world they have come into. But weren't those eyes the same ones that had looked at her husband with sinful love in them? Those eyes, those burning green eyes that had seen Bam's naked body sprawled before them, could not be as innocent as they looked. No, how could they? It was all a lie; all a mask, and Missy was not going to fall for it. Not this time. Not anymore.

_Bringing up the letter that Ville had written to Bam was part of the plan. Everything she said was too. She didn't care one way or another about it. She knew she had lost her Bam long before that blasted letter, but she had to get Ville to drink. She had to play her role so perfectly that Ville wouldn't notice he had been sober for two years, and had promised to himself not to drink anymore. She had to make him devastated, vulnerable, lost, and she knew what his weakest point was. Bam._

The air smelled of cigarette smoke, loneliness and grief. In the dim light coming from the TV and a small lamp at the far end of the room, a heavy shadow of decay seemed to be cast on everything that would have looked perhaps a little more alive and physically there in daylight. There was no sign of Charismas anywhere- even the TV was showing some horror movie- and the theme of a post-funeral was present in the room. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to do anything by her own will. She was being pulled into a swamp by an attraction that wasn't the green flares of her jealousy, or curiosity, but the green of a pair of eyes she had never seen this close before. When she touched him, wet cheek pressed into the crook of his neck, lips burning at the feel of that pale, soft skin, heart beating to the sound of his rough breathing, she knew she should have taken her wings with her when she decided to come to dance on the edge of the sharp razorblade that was Ville Hermanni Valo's beauty. Why hadn't she thought about that before? Why had she underestimated the power of Ville's seduction, when she knew all too well what had happened to her husband? But she couldn't retreat now. She was under the spell of those magnificent eyes, and the more she struggled, the deeper she sunk into that deadly swamp.

_The crystalline tears that ran so freely down his cheeks, like rivers of pain that pooled in the crook of his neck, and the raw agony of a forever lost dream in his glistening eyes, as if every cell of his body was exploding inside…she watched silently as his pale, quivering hand hovered over the bottle of vodka, uncertain, but the pool of pain on his shoulders finally drowned him in as the last piece of his strength caved in, and he uncorked the bottle with a resigned expression on his heartbreakingly beautiful face. And as he brought the bottle near his full lips to take an intoxicating gulp…that night, she watched a man die._

She watched him break over every glass of vodka he drained, and the burning sensation in her heart was slowly consuming her strength. She did get drunk with him, but not on vodka-what he thought she did- but on his extreme beauty and closeness. When she put her clammy hand on his wet cheek, when he dazedly looked back; when she breathed on his full lips, when he brushed his tongue over them; when she leaned in close to feel those lips on hers, when he lazily kissed back…even if she wanted to, she couldn't have stopped.

_Her trembling hands fumbled with the buttons on his black shirt, with a heart that was beating madly against her ribs and a mind that had yet to register the consuming lust that was quickly taking over her. He was lying on his back on the couch, staring drunkenly at the ceiling, limp and unresponsive, like an adored, childhood rag doll in her tiny, pleading hands. He looked like a doll she'd left behind in a tiny, old box in the basement of a house she no longer lived in; a doll she'd cherished the most, and had promised to come back for it when she grew old enough to decide for herself. When she took the shirt off his pale, tattooed body, she spent some agonizing minutes just staring at him. Had he been always this beautiful? She couldn't believe how much she missed something she'd never had; a well-hidden craving deep inside her whose presence she'd never allowed herself to acknowledge. It was deadly. It was dangerous. It was wrong. But she couldn't keep pretending that it didn't exist- this powerful longing for a man she'd known for almost ten years- now that she had finally retuned to her old home in search of her beloved rag doll among all the tiny, old boxes hidden in the dark._

When he passed out on the couch, she slowly got on her feet and threw her clothes on, in a trance. In the pocket of her coat, there was a letter she was supposed to leave for Ville to read; the last part of her so-called revenge plan. She unfolded the letter and her eyes skimmed over the words, and with every word she read, her heart pounded harder against her ribcage.

'This is just in case, Ville. In case you woke up in the morning and couldn't remember a thing about last night. Last night we both got too drunk, and we had sex. Yes, Ville we did. The empty bottle of vodka on the table will be proof enough, and not to mention your hangover in the morning. All I'm trying to say is that this is the last warning. Stay away from my Bam, or I'll be forced to tell him about this 'incident'. And trust me, Bam is such a hypocrite bastard that he won't hesitate hating you upon finding out you've cheated on him, and with his wife no less. You don't want that, do you? Stay. Away. From. Him.

-M-'

No…no, she couldn't do that. She tentatively looked at the unconscious man on the couch, and found her heart breaking all over again by the raw beauty of that face. The sex was gentle, sweet and romantic, even if he was drunk out of his wits. He had made love to her like he knew her, like he cared about her. And twice in his dazed state of mind, he had asked her if she was alright. He was even more beautiful naked, with all his pale, flawless skin and mesmerizing tattoos, and when he had come inside her, he kissed her forehead with all the love she had always craved to find in Bam and failed.

Was she in love with a man she had just taken revenge from?

It was too soon to answer that horrifying question, but as she pulled the blanket over Ville's sleeping form, placing a soft kiss on his soft cheek, and cramping the letter in her hand, she somehow knew no matter how soon or late, the answer would be the same.

She left Ville's house as the loser, and as she tore the letter up and threw the pieces into the bin, and cried all the way back to Westchester, she now knew what she had chosen; the worst.

"_I'm sorry." She sobbed gently as she ran her slender fingers through his soft, dark locks. His unique scent filled her nose with every breath she took in; a scent she could never forget; he smelled of fall; of golden leaves that danced their death to the ground; of fluffy clouds that rained on orange hills; of a gentle breeze that blew through the long, blonde hair of a smiling child running into her mother's embrace. He smelled of the end of the most beautiful season that wasn't going to repeat anymore. And she watched him die in her arms as she kissed his neck. She killed him._


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **none of these ever happened, and everyone belongs to themselves. Life sucks, I know.

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Chapter 14: Time to Let Go**

_~*~ In the empty doorframes of closed doors, your dream-like silhouette is lingering still ~*~_

10 days; 10 days had passed since the last time he saw Ville. 10 days had passed since his promise to himself to get over the loss of a love he'd never had. 10 days since he came home with a broken heart in his chest, a throbbing pain in his throat, a yawning slash in his soul, and thousands of bleeding bullet wounds in his dreams. 10 days seemed such a long time for wasting away with nothing left in his hands but a bottle of Vodka, and the fuzziness of drunkenness seeping far too deep in the layers of his disorientated mind that he gave a damn about. But he knew, even in the hazy state he was in, that a thousand of another 10 days would be still a too short a time to forget about all the memories, all the dreams and wishes he had have to leave behind, if he kept thinking about those shining green eyes melting into his, those full, petal lips falling down on his, those pale, roaming hands falling into a rhythmic pattern with his, that big heart beating to the sound of his, those ragged, fast breaths ghosting over his naked body…

10 days was _not_ a long time. He'd be wasting his whole life running from one nightmare into another, from one despair into another, from one failure into another, and he would still remember; all the agony, all the tears, all the steps he took wrong, and all those tiny little things that had led to his big demise…

The morning light was pouring down on him through the open windows in the kitchen, the baggy T-shirt he was wearing was sticking to his sweating body, the forgotten cup of coffee in his hands was burning his skin, and he had never felt colder in his entire fucked-up life. Missy was sitting right opposite him, head titled down, slender hands playing absent-mindedly with her untouched breakfast, looking utterly miserable, and yet, Bam could not stop thinking about Ville. This whole fiasco he used to call a relationship, this thing he and Ville had together, did it even have a good moment in it? A memory he would want to stick to, to go to sleep with, and to wake up to? A bright, sunny thought that he could use to lighten his mood every time he relapsed into depression? A loving picture he could hang up on the wall and gaze up dreamily at, whenever he was looking for a way out of the harsh reality? If the answer was yes, then he didn't know where those happy, shining memories were hiding. And if it was no, then why was he still craving it, longing for another chance, another moment with Ville? Was it that he wasn't looking deep enough, or he was, as Migé had so kindly pointed it out to him, a masochist?

"Bam?" Missy's soft voice danced around his hazy thoughts and he forced his eyes to stay on the slightly slouched figure of his wife. Wife? But for how much longer? Their appointment was in four days, but he had lost Missy as his wife back when he started to notice Ville mattered to him more than she would ever do.

"Yeah?" when had his voice turned so coarse?

Missy shifted in her chair, seemingly uncomfortable with what she was about to say.

"Is it possible…"she trailed off, eyes persistently on her cup of coffee she had yet to drink.

Bam patiently waited for her to either continue with her question or just simply forget about it. He didn't really want to know what she wanted to ask, but he wasn't going to stop her from asking it either.

"Is it possible to be in love…", she was spooning her coffee that had gone cold by now, refusing to meet Bam's tired eyes, "…with two people at the same time?"

Bam sighed deeply and turned his eyes back to his own coffee. Of all the things she could have asked, as the last thing she ever wanted to ask from her unfaithful husband, why did she choose that one? A question that didn't sound final, like the way their relationship did. She should have asked about infinite matters, about the house, about the divorce, about all the reasons he had done all the things he did. Why did she ask a question that sounded hopeful, when there was no hope for either of them anymore?

But no matter what, Bam answered her.

"I don't know if it means anything to you now, if you believe me or not, but I loved you; I wouldn't have married you if I didn't. I guess I still do, and I'm not saying this to change anything. That's just how I feel and I'm gonna be honest with you for once." He briefly looked up to lock eyes with Missy. She had stopped spooning her coffee, and was now looking at him as if she didn't quite understand him, rather than not believing him.

"And then, there was Ville…" was it tears he saw in Missy's eyes as he mentioned Ville's name, or just a trick of morning light? "You know, it's just…love is…it's not always, you know, obvious. You can be in love with someone for years and not even acknowledge it for a second. I guess, that was the case with Ville. I loved him, long before I came to realize that I loved you, but never stopped to think about the feelings I had for him. I never even entertained the possibility of me being in love with another man; it was…way too weird even for me. But with you, it was different. It was…natural; something I had always been dreaming about since I hit puberty, or perhaps even longer than that. I thought about you and me together. I imagined the two of us as a couple and liked what I saw. That's why I proposed to you."

He paused to collect his thoughts, to think of something more to say, something intelligent, something that could make sense at least to his own ears, but realized there was nothing else left to say. Perhaps, Missy was right. Their marriage had indeed come to an end. What else was there to their relationship that could keep them together, still? Sure they still loved each other, or that was what they kept telling each other anyway, but somehow their love didn't feel right anymore. Nothing felt right anymore.

"Our appointment is on Monday." Missy began in her shaky voice; a voice that kept reminding Bam of how much he had done her wrong. "I've packed all my stuff, and…just so you know, I'm leaving America in a week."

The last part startled Bam more than it should have. It was her life anyway; it was her decision to live wherever she wanted to, but somehow, the prospect of Missy leaving his life like this, so final and with no possibility of ever coming back, scared him. He was hoping that they could remain friends, or at least have some time to cool down enough to start making things a little bit more comfortable between each other. Bam wanted her to stay around long enough to forgive him. Time healed the wounds, right? But if she wanted to leave, and never see Bam, then she would forget at best, or keep hurting at worst, and Bam didn't want either of them to happen. He wanted her to forgive him, but didn't feel he deserved her forgiveness just yet.

"Where…where are you going?" he needed to know. Perhaps, one day, if he felt brave enough to beg her for forgiveness, he could go and find her.

"Somewhere…somewhere far away." She didn't say anything, and Bam didn't ask for more. If she wanted him to know, she would have told him by now. Despair and loneliness were bearing down on him, crushing his heart into soft powder. He turned his head to conceal the misty shadow of tears from Missy's eyes.

"I wish I could…" Bam began, not completely realizing he had spoken out.

Missy cut him off, though, as if already knowing what he was about to say and not wanting to hear him out. "Yeah."

She forced a smile and stood up, one pale, quivering hand brushing a lock of long hair behind her ear. And when she left the kitchen, hair dancing around her face to a sad song, Bam knew it was the last time he could look at Missy's face and think of her as his wife.

_~*~ My whole share of being with you is the bitter grief of sunset ~*~_

3 months and 15 days; 3 months and 15 days since the last time she had seen Ville; she was 3 months and 15 days pregnant with a child of a man who had taken everything important from her; her husband, her happiness, her dreams, her hopes, her future…

She was pregnant by a man she had accidently fallen in love with. Bam's words rang through her head. Perhaps, it _was_ possible to be in love with two people at the same time. She knew she loved Bam. His infidelity couldn't change anything about the fact that she loved him. Her happiest moments were the ones she had spent with Bam, no matter how short-lived and far between those happy moments had been. And Ville…what was it about him that pulled her so strongly towards him? Was it his beauty? It could be, but then again, what _was_ beauty? The glint in his gorgeous green eyes, or the softness of the way he had looked at her that night? That silk, alabaster skin that felt like heaven beneath her hands, or the gentleness in the way he had touched her? Or could it be the fact that she was carrying _his_ baby in her womb? Was that strong enough a reason to fall in love? She had spent a long time dwelling if it was love she was feeling for the Finnish singer or it was just her mixed-up feelings she could not find a name for. In the end, she decided it didn't matter either way. Whatever it was, she could and would never act upon it. The feeling was going to be forever buried in the depths of her heart and no one was ever going to find out about it. It didn't matter if it had a name. It didn't matter if it was real or just something she had made up out of need. It was going to be forgotten- _one of these days_- and she tried to convince herself that she didn't care what she felt for the Finn was. It was for the best, after all. What was the point in being in love and knowing for sure that you were, when your love was not going to be returned no matter what? It only hurt her more, and pain was something she was getting sick of.

When she forced herself to stop getting lost in the labyrinth of her wandering thoughts, she found herself surrounded by the all-too-familiar white walls that were closing in, and voices that were swimming all around her, drowning her in their annoying quietness. What was she doing here, again?

For the second time in her life, she had found herself somewhere she didn't really want to be in, yet, she had no other choice but to be there. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, brushed pass the women that looked just as distressed and miserable as she did, the black-leathered, comfortable chairs all around the room, the wide windows that were open and through which was blowing a hot summer breeze, and settled on the various photos of angelic faces hanging on the walls. Her hand, almost instinctively, went to rest on her belly. As she continued looking at the beautiful faces of the babies on the wall, she couldn't help but to wonder how her own baby would have looked like, if she gave him a chance to live. 'Him'? God, she already knew it was a boy, and he was going to look just like his father; dark, curly hair, snow-white skin, shocking green eyes, a small, slightly upturned nose, red, bow-shaped lips…he was going to be perfect; the most beautiful child in the world. But…he was not going to be born. She couldn't have this child, no matter how beautiful he would be, or how much she would love him. This baby was not meant to be here. He was not meant to be hers. If it wasn't for those eyes…Bam would have possibly looked pass the curly hair and the pale skin, but those eyes, those magnetic, green eyes, they were unmistakable, a dead giveaway. How was Missy going to explain to Bam that the baby she was claiming to be theirs had green eyes? And not _any_ green eyes, but the green eyes of a man Bam was secretly in love with.

No, this baby was going to be buried, along with all the memories, all the feelings, and all the longings his mother had for a certain dark beauty that was called Ville Hermanni Valo.

_~*~ On the glassy surface of your eyes, I have left the misty imprint of my sigh ~*~_

It wasn't that he didn't learn from his mistakes; he was a professional skateboarder and learning from his mistakes had become a vital necessity in both his career and his life. It wasn't that he didn't know what was best for him; he was almost 30, and despite how he behaved in public, he had grown old enough to tell good and bad apart. He was here for a reason, and it wasn't the lack of abuse in his life, as Migé, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed against his broad chest, had so kindly put it. He was here to see Ville, because there was something he needed to ask the Finnish singer. He couldn't get over the man if this puzzle remained unsolved. Just an answer was all that he needed, and then he was on his way to moving on.

But when he finally got in the house (after winning a shouting contest with the bass player), Ville was already standing at the foot of the stairs that led to his bedroom. Seeing Ville after 11 days was Bam's undoing all over again. Perhaps, if he was in his casual clothes, with that bitter smirk on his face, eyes glaring fires at him, as he threw insults or perhaps even things at his head, he would have taken it far better than this. But no, Ville was not in his casual clothes, and he didn't look bitter or angry. He was standing there, in nothing but an oversized, pale blue shirt that barely came to his exposed, white hips, with sleeves that were long enough to cover his hands, and with two top buttons undone to show his jutted collarbones and a patch of ghostly white skin that looked almost transparent under the bluish hue radiating from the fluorescent lamp above his head. He had never looked more fragile in his entire life, not even while he had been in a coma. The expression on his face was heartbreaking in its raw, brutal pain that seemed to be sprayed on the pale surface of his skin. Through the confusion that had made him appear as a child no older than 5, passiveness and exhaustion were almost palpable on his gaunt features. Eyes once as warm and alive as green flames that burnt in a hearth, were only lit by the scorching, lingering touch of agony, and lips once as red and tempting as the forbidden fruit, matched the color of the ill-fitting shirt he had on. His hair was shorter, too. Dark and curly as ever, but barely reaching the nape of his neck and covering his ears; tiny waves of black that were slowly drowning his little, angelic face in. He looked younger, but young in a very wrong sense of the word. He looked like a very sick child whose days were numbered. That thought burned through Bam's mind like strong acid. And when he suddenly coughed into his hands, breaking the intense silence, Bam wondered when Ville had gotten so ill.

"Ville, go back to bed!"

Migé's order to Ville, who suddenly looked even more like a lost, confused child, made alarms go off inside Bam's head. Bed? But it was only 8 in the evening. Why did Ville have to be in bed so early? Perhaps Ville was really as ill as he looked.

Ville's body made a half-turn, probably about to do as Migé had ordered him, so pliant and so…resigned. But Bam had not come all this way back to a place he had once sworn to never set foot in, only to see the one person he wanted so badly to ask a question from slipping from his fingers like quicksilver.

"No, Ville, wait!"

He could only shout, because Migé, in his intimidating pose, was standing in his way to Ville, and he also had a feeling that launching himself at the ill-looking man would not lead to his desired results.

To his surprise, Ville did stop in his tracks, but the look he was giving him unnerved him to no end. Why was Ville looking at him- with those vacant, colorless eyes- like he didn't know him? Or couldn't remember anything about him? Those eyes that had once pierced through all the layers of Bam's glowing pretence, undressing him beyond the articles of clothing, reaching for a heart he had spent all his life pretending he didn't have, were now looking past him, as if they were not actually _seeing_ him.

The realization suddenly hit like a loud bang to his head, and Bam marched towards the silent sufferer, ignoring the threatening glares Migé was throwing his way, ignoring his thumbing heart that was exploding inside, ignoring the closeness of a man he couldn't just get out of his system and the coldness that had him in a tight, lover's embrace. He grabbed Ville's thin shoulders that were only bones with no flesh, and without even comprehending what he was doing, started shaking him almost violently. 'Ville, it's me! C'mon, snap out of it! See me, it's Bam! Fucking SEE me!' was rapidly flashing in Bam's desperate eyes but it was only immense pain that flashed back through those pale, green eyes.

Migé shouted something from behind, but it was only Ville's low, almost emotionless voice that he heard.

"You're hurting me."

As soon as Ville opened his mouth to say those words, Bam had stopped shaking the taller man. On the snow-white skin that covered Ville's shoulders, dark, angry bruises were already forming, rich colors spreading on the blank canvas that was his pale skin, painting the man all the pain and suffering he was holding inside. Bam was both horrified and mystified by the inky color his mere fingers had left on Ville's smooth skin.

"Oh, God…what have I done to you?!?"

"Get the fuck away from him!" He barely registered as Migé's large hands took a hold of his shoulders and pushed him away from Ville. His back made a dull sound as it made an impact with the wall behind him, and as pain shot through his veins and a thin film of tears blurred his vision, he saw Ville in a whole new light. The watery image of a man he just couldn't fall out of love yet floated around him, all the expressions on that pale face becoming more profound, more real. The drug-like confusion that washed over the pain he seemed to have been born with, a kind of innocence that could only be maintained if you have suffered enough in your life, a persistent hope he was so desperately clutching onto, one that kept telling him things would be alright, that he would stop hurting if he just kept on fighting…all the emotions that flickered through those pale green eyes and ran down his cheeks like thousands of teardrops he couldn't remember how to shed suddenly reminded Bam that Ville could never be his; even hundreds of centuries could not erase so much pain off that angelic face, and who was Bam to be able to stay strong enough to make the pain go away?

"It's ok. I'm ok, Mizee." Somehow it hurt more hearing those meaningless words falling from those full lips than it would have if he had just told them the truth; that it wasn't ok. That he wasn't fucking ok. That the bruises hurt. And then just everything else…

But when Migé slipped his arm around Ville's thin waist and started leading him up the stairs, Bam knew his only chance at ever seeing Ville again was slipping away.

"Can we…can we please talk for a moment?" he was begging and he didn't care. There was a time in Bam Margera's life when he believed he could have any fucking thing he wanted, if he just _wanted_ to have it. He had long passed that point of time in his life; if begging was his last resort to speak to Ville, so be it. fuck, he would do anything to have another chance with him; the last chance.

"No, you can't. Ville has to be in bed right now, and _you_ have to leave; you'd better be gone when I get back." Migé growled and gently pushed Ville forward to take a step towards the stairs.

"Please? I beg you, Ville, just a minute and I fucking swear you'll never see me again!" he tried again, this time on his knees and eyes pleading with Ville's exhausted ones. If he refused him now, there would be no hope for him anymore.

"Mizee, give us a moment." Ville's soft request brought the flicker of hope back to Bam's heart. He jumped to his feet, suddenly feeling so light-headed that even Migé's angry glare didn't slow him down in his way to the singer.

"I'll walk you to your bedroom." Migé offered but Ville gently shook his head.

"No, it's fine. I managed climbing them down all on my own, after all." He smiled for Migé, and Bam suddenly realized his smile had the same effect on the bass player as it _still_ did on him. It melted him.

"Alright, but I'll come back for you in a minute."

"Two." Bam suddenly chimed in, and lowered his head as the Finns turned to look at him. "Two minutes please." He added almost shyly.

Migé huffed and released his protective hold on Ville, but other than that, didn't object anymore. Ville started an agonizingly slow pace up the stairs and Bam followed closely behind. When they reached the bedroom, Ville continued walking to his unmade bed, and quietly sat on it. He was looking down as he adjusted his shirt over his hips, trying to cover his nudity as best as he could, and Bam found himself following Ville's fingers as they rather awkwardly traced the hem of the pale blue shirt, sketching invisible lines on the soft-looking material. His eyes then traveled upward, and settled on the bruises that were covering Ville's otherwise white skin in an aesthetic fashion. If possible, he hated himself even more as he realized he had just hurt Ville in a physical sense, something he had sworn he would never do, not even at those times he had been at the receiving end of Ville's violence.

"Err…sorry…" Ville looked up as he began, and Bam suddenly lost his words along with his nerves. "…about…about the bruises."

It was such a pathetic attempt at apologizing, but Bam didn't know how else to do it. The smile that graced Ville's almost blue lips was not the one he had just given Migé on the stairway; this one was full of sadness, silent surrender and pure pain. Bam's stomach churned.

"They never fade, do they?"

Something about the smile, and the coldness of his voice made Bam realize Ville was not simply referring to the bruises on his shoulders, but the ones Bam had left on his heart. Bam had no answer for that; not one that would mean anything, that would make either of them happy. So he avoided it like it had never been mentioned. Ville's smile faltered as Bam abruptly asked,

"What's with the…" he motioned to Ville with his hand, not quite sure how to put his inquiry into words that wouldn't sound too inquisitive, or too uncaring. "You know, you look very pale; paler than usual that is and your lips are practically blue, man and…and you coughed downstairs…are you sick or something?" his voice trailed off at the annoyed look that suddenly crossed Ville's face.

Ville looked down again, pulling the hem of his shirt over his bent knees. "Uh, it's nothing…just my damn asthma, the same old story."

When he refused to explain more, Bam tried again. "But you've never looked this sick before. Are you sure…?"

Ville's sigh cut him off. "It's…it's the medication, ok? I have to take several pills a day, and they're rather strong. I have to rest all day because of them; funny how they make me feel so weak when they should make me feel anything but."

He still wasn't looking at him, and that made Bam feel there was more to Ville's sickness than he let on.

He was about to ask more, when Ville suddenly looked up and made Bam's breath catch in his throat.

"Mizee will be here in a minute. I don't believe you're here to ask about my illness, so if this thing you wanna know about is really important, you'd better get on with it now."

Bam wanted to know more, he wanted to know how sick he was, if he was going to get better soon, just something more than 'my asthma and my medication', but he knew Migé would stay true to his word and would be here sooner than Bam could even start with his endless questions in his head.

"Yeah, you're right. I want to know…" he paused, and decided he much preferred Ville to avert his gaze, than to look at him with those tired, faded green eyes of his that made Bam's heart drop at the intense familiarity of them. "Ville, this is the last and the only thing I'm ever gonna ask you, and after that, no matter what the answer might be, I won't be bothering you with my presence anymore. So please, just be honest, ok? All I need is a true answer, so please don't deny me of that."

Ville merely nodded and Bam, pleased, continued.

"I want to know…was I really the reason why you…tried to take your life?"

Ville took too long to answer him, and when he finally did, Bam wasn't sure if he really wanted Ville to be honest and break him, or to lie to him and save him.

"Yes…"

Bam wanted to reach out and brush away those tears that were silently running down Ville's cheeks. He wanted to reach out and take all the pain he had caused this man away. He wanted to save him, to relieve him of this burden on his shoulders, the burden he shouldn't have been the one to bear in the first place, but he knew no matter how far he stretched his hand, how much he wished that he would, he'd never reach him.

It was over. He didn't know what 'it' was; an affair, a relationship, a game, their love, whatever it had been, it no longer was. It was over, like the last chapter of a tragedy he had written with his own hands, and he had to let go. No matter what it was going to take, he had to let go. He simply had to.

* * *


End file.
